


My Vow to You

by Ms_Towa



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Noragami AU, Oblivious Meebo, Pining, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5674504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Towa/pseuds/Ms_Towa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Sorey met Mikleo, he stumbled upon the spirit in the middle of a pond, bathing in sacred water. He was beautiful, and he was crying. Sorey wanted to help, but by doing so, he unknowingly bound their fate together.</p><p>The more time passed, one grew older and matured while the other was a constant in life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His Name is Mikleo

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for a Noragami (ノラガミ) AU came to me in a dream.  
> Concepts were taken from the anime/manga and applied to the characters.  
> Hopefully, nobody is too OCC since this is my first time writing for Zestiria.  
> This is also my first time posting to AO3, so we'll see how this goes.

A pair of jade green eyes widened, glowing alight with wonder, as a boy with feathery chestnut brown hair noticed the little blue spark in the clear waters of a nearby pond. Rather than a fleeting spark, however, the light glimmering against the crystalline surface of the waters made it appear more like a precious gemstone—like an azure sapphire or a blue diamond. It was beautiful, and he almost forgot to breathe. Shaking himself out of his reverie, the boy addressed the spirit resting in the pond, “Hey, why are you crying? Are you lost?”

He blinked, and his vision sharpened to the extent where he could distinguish the soft features of another boy who appeared several years older than his age. Silver slivers of light shone within amethyst jewels underneath the sunlight with a glossy sheen, and crystal clear drops pooled at the edges of his eyes before trickling down translucent, porcelain cheeks a tinge rosy like drops of dew. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

_Take him under your wing._

_Give him a home, give him food, give him clothes._

The older boy seemed startled that Sorey could see him, and for a moment, the brunet saw that his tears had dried up, overcome with surprise. The grin on Sorey's lips widened, liking this expression much better than his tear-stained countenance, and he stretched out a hand towards the spirit. “Why don't you come with me?” he suggested. “I'm Sorey! Gramps says that this entire area is mine—the temple ruins and the little cottages and the forest and this pond and everything! But it can be dangerous because of some of the animals! That's why I'm living with Gramps right now until I get bigger and older and stronger! It's nice to meet you! What's your name?”

His inquiry was met with silence, and it only took a single moment where the older boy's violet eyes faltered, his visage more crestfallen, that Sorey realised his own mistake. Gramps had warned him that newly born spirits didn't remember much about their past; Sorey had been too accustomed to being introduced to Gramps' regalias and, as a result, didn't encounter any newly born spirits since the time he'd been born.

_Give him a name. Give him a place to belong._

_Give him your trust._

“Then,” Sorey found himself blurting out, “I'll make one for you!” He kicked off his slouchy brown boots and stripped off his cotton socks before stepping into the pond water, ignoring how the hem of his shorts were beginning to get soaked. Beaming, he stretched out his hand towards the spirit once again. “Come on, Mikleo!”

In a flash of white light, a pale hand grasped firmly onto Sorey's; however, in that moment, a flood of visions bombarded the younger boy's mind. A burning village, an onslaught of human soldiers dressed from head to toe in metal armour massacring innocents, the cries of terror, the pleas for mercy, an older man besotted with rage and wrath, an older woman with Mikleo's eyes who was crouching on the ground, wrecked by her tears and sobs, begging to the gods above to save her only child, her only son.

He wasn't quite sure what he was seeing, but he did know what he felt—sadness, unbelievable sadness, excruciating pain and misery, a terrible agony and a merciless betrayal that clawed at his chest and wrenched the inside of his stomach. Among those visions, he recognised a single face—the visage of his new friend. The instant those visions faded away, he blinked away the warm building behind his eyes and apologised to Mikleo for surprising him, who had been struck silent by shock.

“Are you okay?” the silver haired teen inquired of the child, running his slender fingers through Sorey's brown hair. His hand slipped from the crown to the side of Sorey's face, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away a stray droplet. “You're crying.”

Sorey's heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice; it was like a siren's song, beautiful and enchanting. However, his words finally registered to the younger boy, and he hurriedly brushed away his tears with the back of his hand. A grin spread across his lips like sweet honey, and a single thought rang clear within his mind— _I won't let you feel that pain ever again—_ before the brunet chirped, “Let's go home!” With that, he tugged on Mikleo's hand, dragging him along the path to Elysia. He gave one last glance to Mikleo and exclaimed, “I promise, Mikleo, that I'll make you happy!”

* * *

When Sorey brought Mikleo home, he wasn't really sure what to expect. Gramps was always adopting lost spirits in the first place; he'd even taken Sorey under his care a century or two ago. Mikleo was just another addition to their family, or, at least, that was how Sorey saw it. He figured that Gramps would just accept Mikleo like he did with the other lost spirits, so the curious little boy wasn't really expecting Gramps to be studying Mikleo carefully, however. On the other hand, Mikleo only squirmed underneath the elder's stare, unsure of what to make heads or tails of the current situation.

“Kyme,” Gramps addressed the spirit who had been accompanying him. An older man with slicked back white hair and darkly tanned skin stepped forth from Gramps' right, back straight and ready to hear his orders. His eyes glanced over Mikleo, who fidgeted slightly, before snapping his attention back to the Elder. “Show Mikleo around the manor. He'll need to know where everything is if he is to stay here with Sorey.”

Sorey's eyes widened with delight, and he nearly pounced on the old man with a thousand expressions of gratitude dancing at the tip of his tongue until Gramps beckoned for Sorey to come closer. “We need to talk, Sorey,” Gramps stated. That was all Sorey needed to hear to have his good cheer plummeting into nothingness.The Elder made sure all of the spirits were gone from the immediate vicinity before sitting himself down at the fore of the room, Sorey kneeling in front of him. Without wasting any time, he asked the boy, “When you gave Mikleo his name, did you see something?”

Sorey nodded his head grimly, frowning when he could only recall those morbid, terrible visions, and just as he was about to voice them, Gramps raised his hand. “Sorey,” the elder stated, his voice low and haunting, “you must never speak of those visions, and you must never mention the name you've heard—especially to Mikleo. They are a god's greatest secret. If, by any chance, in any circumstance, Mikleo was to hear this name, he would become gravely ill, Sorey, and there would be no way to heal him.”

Judging by Gramps' countenance, Sorey knew there was more to what he had said, but the brunet merely gulped and nodded his head. Gramps was wise, after all. Gramps stood up, walked over to Sorey, and ruffled his hair. “You are still very young, Sorey, but day by day, you're growing more and more.” Gramps smiled. “Congratulations on your first regalia.”

Sorey beamed. “Can I go play with Mikleo now?”

Gramps nodded and gestured towards the door. Within mere seconds, Sorey leapt to his feet and bounded out of Gramps' hut. His emerald eyes scoured the entire village as he raced from hut to hut, and he found Mikleo being led around Elysia by Kyme, who appeared to be explaining something to the silver haired boy by how he was gesticulating with his arms. The other spirits were staring at the two of them, curious about the newcomer, and before long, Sorey was crying out to the others, “Come on, guys! I want you to meet someone!” He dragged the closest spirit by the wrist before pushing and pulling along the rest, fuelled entirely by his excitement. Once he gathered the entire village, his chest huffed in pride as he exclaimed, “Everyone, this is my regalia! Gramps said he could live with us! His name is Mikleo! Isn't he pretty?!”

“P- _Pretty_?” Mikleo spluttered out. A beautiful scarlet emblazoned his fair cheeks, and the redness seeped all over the back of his neck and the tip of his ears. Immediately, the teen slapped a hand over the lower half of his visage in order to hide his embarrassment, but it was already too late. A good number of the spirits had already caught sight of his blush, and several of them were already smiling and smirking in amusement.

“Sorey's first regalia, huh?” commented one of the male spirits, Ed, a young man with unkempt brown hair and a good-natured grin, if not a bit teasing. “More like his first crush, right?”

One of the female spirits—Medea, an older, matronly woman—chortled softly, displaying her agreement, before elbowing him in jest. “Don't tease the young Shepherd about it! This is precious!” Next to her, Myrna, another one of the elders in the village, giggled quietly.

Melody, a teenage girl with deep red hair tinged a shade of pink, smiled all the same and joined them in their fun, “So _this_ is Sorey's type?” Her big round eyes scanned Mikleo up and down, and he practically shrunk under her gaze. It was a different kind of discomfort than Zenrus' scrutiny, but that didn't make the attention any more bearable.

Kyme smiled fondly at the two of them, placing a comforting hand atop Mikleo's shoulder as to welcome him to their large family, but when he spoke, it was directed towards the other regalias. “Isn't it fine?” the white haired man mused. “Although he's still young, Sorey is a god, and gods are entitled to whatever they so desire—like a new friend.”

Sorey turned to Mikleo, his grin never faltering, and chirped, “I think they like you!”

Mikleo glanced shyly at the villagers before bowing tensely in greeting. Sorey, however, would have none of that. He snatched Mikleo's fingers, gripping it tightly in his smaller hand, either in an act of comfort or a means not to let the taller boy slip away. Then he paraded Mikleo around the entire village, making sure to introduce him to every single spirit both young and old, and through Sorey's good graces, Mikleo was quite easily integrated into the community.

That night, Sorey made sure that his spare pillow was especially soft and fluffy for Mikleo's comfort. He had pulled out all of the quilts and blankets from his closet, unsure of which one Mikleo would find pleasing but eager to find out, and unintentionally dragged them across the wooden planks of his floor as he bounded to his bedroom. Chucking them onto his mattress, he beamed at Mikleo, who had been observing him with a soft smile on his pink lips that was hidden behind the rim of his ceramic cup filled with steaming hot chocolate.

Sorey joined Mikleo in the centre of his main room, grinning with all of his pearly white baby teeth on display, and asked the teen, “Do you like it?”

Mikleo hummed. “It's delicious,” he replied. “You're really good at this.”

Sorey revelled in Mikleo's praises, and his smile stretched even wider than before. “Kyme showed me how!” the boy chirped excitedly. “Gramps said I couldn't drink any of my offerings because it's for adults only! Gramps ends up drinking the wine with Old Man Taccio and Lawrence and Shaun and Moymor, so Kyme used to make me hot chocolate instead!”

“You're quite small for a famous god,” Mikleo acquiesced. “I heard the others calling you the Shepherd. Isn't he the Great Protector and Guardian of Mankind? If I recall correctly, the Shepherd defends people against evil spirits. You're not quite what I imagined…” He couldn't possibly envision little Sorey as the muscular, heroic figure depicted within grand paintings and sculptures, hauling around a broadsword more than twice the child god's size.

Sorey pouted in response. “I'm almost two hundred years old, Mikleo!” the brunet protested. “Gramps said that I used to be big and strong and powerful! I wasn't strong enough to face off an evil dragon by myself though, and it took all of my life force to take him down… but it's okay, see? I was reborn two hundred years ago, and Gramps raised me all on his own! As long as there's someone who believes in me, then I'll be reborn! I'll be even bigger and stronger and more powerful this time!”

Mikleo's expression faltered. “That's kind of… sad,” the silver haired teen murmured.

Sorey blinked. “Is it?”

Mikleo nodded. He smiled a bit sadly, a bit sweetly, at Sorey and shifted a little closer to the young god. Setting down his mug, Mikleo stretched out a hand—and hesitated for a fraction of a second—before combing his lithe fingers through Sorey's feathery brown hair. He could feel Sorey relax underneath his fingertips. “You should treasure your life more,” Mikleo chastised. “There are people who love you, who need you, and they'll miss you very much if you're gone. Even if you're reborn, it's painful to see you die time and time again. You're not just a god for the people; you're very much an individual, Sorey.” Even as he spoke, he wasn't quite sure if Sorey understood the meaning behind his words, but at least the little god seemed to be taking him seriously.

“Mikleo, do you need me?” Sorey inquired innocently, staring up at his regalia with big, green eyes.

“I do,” Mikleo answered. “I don't know where I would be without you. Thank you, Sorey, for saving me. I'm glad I met you. Today was wonderful. I'll do whatever I can to protect you—not just as a regalia, but as your friend.”

“I'll protect you, too, Mikleo!” Sorey chirped. “Thank you for being here, Mikleo! I'm very happy that you're with me, too!”

Mikleo laughed quietly, and he tousled Sorey's hair a second time. “Grow a little taller, and then we'll see who will protect whom, all right?”

Sorey pouted, but just like a child, he bounded right back onto his feet and darted towards his large bookshelf. Mikleo nearly had a heart attack when he noticed the boy climbing up a shelf. The silver haired spirit leapt to his feet and chased after his young master, scooping him into his slender arms and pulling him away from the bookcase just as it began to shake underneath Sorey's weight. He reached for the book Sorey was picking at and collapsed back onto the floor, glancing up at the now stable shelf.

Mikleo glowered at a sheepish Sorey and quipped, “I'm definitely keeping an eye on you until you grow more.” Sighing at his young master's remorseful expression, Mikleo handed over the worn leather-bound tome, blinking at the front cover—The Celestial Record. It was familiar, somehow, even though he couldn't quite remember where he's seen it before. “Why don't you keep it on the lower shelves if you wanted to read it so badly?” Mikleo inquired curiously.

“Shiron put it up there when he was helping me clean my house this morning,” Sorey explained. “I always read it every day. Gramps said my past self used to read it _all the time_ , too. I don't remember much about it now though, and there are some words that are really hard to understand. Mikleo, can you help me? The other villagers get a little tired reading it—except for Old Man Taccio, but sometimes he just starts talking about something I don't get. It's really interesting though; I don't know why Mason and Ed and the others don't want to read it!”

Mikleo glanced at the cover once again before making the mistake of meeting Sorey's pleading puppy eyes. Sighing once again, Mikleo crossed his arms and replied, “Sure, why not?” He startled a bit, however, when Sorey crawled into his lap, settling comfortably into the eighteen year old boy's legs. His attention was soon stolen by the first couple of words on the page Sorey flipped to—the Galahad Ruins. Sorey eagerly began to read aloud, and Mikleo followed his every word, helping him occasionally when the boy god stammered over a particularly difficult vocabulary word.

Eventually, Sorey leaned back, resting against his regalia's chest, and his eyes began to grow heavy, fluttering shut. When his tiny hands loosened their grasp on the tome, Mikleo marked their place with a strip of velvety fabric Sorey had been using. He first set aside the book before hauling Sorey into his arms and placing him down upon the mattress, tucking him underneath the covers of the bed. He stepped back into the main room and picked up the Celestial Record, finding room on one of the lower shelves for Sorey's easy access, and exited Sorey's house.

Immediately, he was met with Mason, Ed, and Shiron, who all greeted him with friendly smiles. “Hey, Mikleo,” Mason called out to him as the silver haired boy approached them. “Kyme thought you'd feel more comfortable talking to people around your age.”

“There aren't that many teens around here,” Ed agreed with a nod, “and even less kids. It's mostly adults, but you probably noticed that already.” He nodded his head off towards the forest and said, “How about a walk?”

“Isn't it dangerous?” Mikleo questioned sceptically as he glanced towards the gathering of trees.

“We won't get too far,” Ed assured. “Barely past the entrance—won't even breach Aroundight Forest. Sorey took you through the forest already, didn't he? To get to Elysia through Mabinogio?” When Mikleo nodded, Ed continued speaking, “That kid… even though he's a god, he really likes exploring those ruins. It makes it hard to believe that he's really the Shepherd.” The brunet was already off walking towards the forest at his own pace, leaving the rest to follow him.

“Mikleo,” Shiron asked, “how much do you know about the Shepherd?”

“He's the protector of humankind,” Mikleo answered. “People pray to him asking for his divine protection from evil spirits.”

“Exactly,” Shiron confirmed. “We call these evil spirits 'phantoms.'”

“Phantoms?” Mikleo repeated.

Mason nodded. “Phantoms are creatures that have the ability to influence humans, usually by feeding off people's negativities and corrupting them from the inside. They come in all shapes and sizes, and humans, under normal conditions, usually can't see them. However, they can be exterminated by a god and his regalia. Sometime in the future, that will be Sorey and, of course, you. A regalia is a sacred tool usable only by gods, so there are certain responsibilities we have to carry. That's what Kyme wanted us to tell you.”

Ed paused in his steps and settled atop a stone structure, sitting himself down for the upcoming explanation. “There are a couple of things we have to teach you,” the brunet stated. “Things that you have to know as a proper regalia to be used in battle.”

Shiron glanced at Mikleo, whose expression was entirely unreadable, and asked the newcomer, “Are you scared?”

Mikleo returned his concern with a polite bow of his head, stunning the other three boys into silence, as he replied, “Please teach me how to protect Sorey.” It was the least he could do for the little boy who brought him out of that darkness and gave him a name and a home.

* * *

“Hey, Mikleo!” Sorey chirped as he stared up at the ancient mural painted onto one of the walls in the ruins. He blinked his big jade eyes, and in an instant, his loyal regalia was at his side. “Do you think this painting is of me?”

“Not at all,” Mikleo answered in a teasing remark, a smirk curving his pink lips. It wasn't quite the smile Sorey liked to see him wear, but it still made him feel all giddy inside, knowing that Mikleo was having fun with him.

Ed never really did like exploring the ruins; the other regalia was more for prickleboar hunting out in the forest. Shiron, on the other hand, was always training, and Mason always had errands to run for Gramps. It was his first time having a friend like Mikleo, who shared the same interest Sorey had in books and history, and it made exploration all the more exciting.

“Why?” Sorey whined. He pointed at the painting and protested, “Look! He's definitely holding the sacred sword, and he's cutting into the darkness! It definitely depicts how the Shepherd is supposed to keep evil spirits away from humans!”

“Certainly, that is true,” Mikleo replied, “but from my observations, it looks more like a painting of the Shepherd and not of Sorey.” The smirk grew wider and wider as he ruffled his lord's feathery brown hair. “Sorey is still a little too small to hold a sword like that.”

“Mean!” Sorey cried, pouting at the older boy. “You're so mean, Mikleo!”

“However,” Mikleo persisted regardless, “I do believe that one day you will be able to wield a weapon of that significance.” His touch became gentle and warm, and his smirk faded into a fond smile. It was this kind of smile that Sorey liked the most, and he didn't exactly know why either. For now, Sorey could only stare, entranced, as Mikleo spoke, “You'll make a wonderful Shepherd someday, Sorey.”

_And I will cut a path through the darkness for you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was written to be a one-shot, but the universe somehow expanded as I was writing.  
> I guess it's because there are events I wanted to touch on from Noragami, so Sorey will get older in order to make them more plausible because right now, in this introduction, he's just a little Shepherd!  
> The other chapters will be a little longer since this is just the beginning.
> 
> If you're not quite familiar with _Noragami_ , in the beginning, Sorey is receiving Mikleo's memories of his past life, namely how he had died. Regalias are given a "second chance at life," so to speak, but they don't remember anything from when they were human. That's all I'm going to say without spoiling what would happen later in the Noragami series for any who are interested.


	2. The Boy Named Sorey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change is coming.

****Sometime fifty years since their first meeting, around when Sorey reached Mikleo's chest, the child god appeared to be in his twelfth or thirteenth year—if he had been a human. He was all wide eyes, coltish limbs, and awkward voice. On their outings, he would eagerly ramble about one discovery or another with Mikleo, only until his voice cracked in the middle of his sentence. The child god would flush beet red at the terrible noise and sealed his lips immediately, refusing to speak, after Mikleo had laughed at his expense, finding everything quite endearing. One time he had gotten so red, Sorey absolutely refused to leave his house or even look at Mikleo.

“Is this normal?” Mikleo asked Gramps immediately afterwards. The poor regalia was kicked out of his own home however temporarily.

Gramps exhaled smoke from his lips slowly before replying with a devious smirk, “Just leave him be, Mikleo. He'll be fine. He's just embarrassed.”

“Is it…” Mikleo hesitated. His cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “Is it puberty? Do gods undergo puberty like humans do?”

Gramps chuckled at the inquiry but nodded his head in response nevertheless. “The growth of gods, child gods in particular, is quite unstable,” Gramps informed. He took another drag from his pipe and exhaled through his nose, smoke swirling about the air in steady streams. “It is dependent on the amount of worshippers he has. The previous Shepherd had expelled a massive amount of malevolence from the land with his sacrifice, so there had been an era of peace.”

“Nobody really needed to pray to Sorey for protection against evil spirits,” Mikleo deduced. “That's why he stayed a child for two centuries.”

Gramps nodded. “Smart boy,” he praised, and Mikleo blushed at the compliment. “You're correct. Sorey's sudden growth spurt reflects the increase in worshippers, followers, and prayers he is receiving on a daily basis. It slows down some once the foundation has stabilised, and his growth will stunt at adulthood.”

Mikleo was silent as he mulled over what Gramps had told him. “Doesn't that mean… people need him now?” the silver haired regalia questioned.

Gramp hummed, a solemn, almost grave, sound. “You're quite perceptive, Mikleo,” Gramps replied. “You're absolutely right. It's almost time to begin his lessons. The day will come when Sorey will leave this village for the world below.”

Mikleo nodded his head quietly. Wherever Sorey would go, Mikleo would follow. That was how it had always been, and that was how it would always be. “Thank you for telling me, Gramps,” Mikleo said. Gramps only shook his head as though to say it was nothing, and Mikleo excused himself. He left Gramps' hut and descended down the hill, approaching Sorey's house. He faltered at the front steps, however, and turned away from the door.

He would do as Gramps told him—to leave Sorey to himself, give him time to calm down, until Sorey could finally walk out of his home in confidence. The gloomy indoors didn't suit Sorey. He was, after all, a child of sunshine.

Instead, he strolled towards the forest, where he knew he could find the other guys. Mason and Shiron were seated at the riverside, watching as Ed eagerly reeled in another catch—only to find that there was nothing caught on his hook, laughing as they watched his face fall in dismay. Upon hearing Mikleo approach, Mason patted the spot next to him, and Mikleo lowered himself onto the ground, folding his legs beside him, as he joined the redhead and their grey haired friend. “You guys aren't hunting this time?” Mikleo inquired curiously. Ed was always up for prickleboar hunting; this was a peculiar change of pace. He never imagined the brunet to possess an ounce of the patience needed for fishing.

“Cynthia told him,” Mason swallowed his laughter though he did nothing to fight the grin from conquering his lips, “that he needed to learn how to calm down.”

Shiron chuckled quietly. “Somehow that equated to fishing,” the grey haired regalia mused, “but, as you can see, he's as rowdy as ever.” Without cutting any corners, Shiron jumped straight to the point and asked Mikleo, “How's Sorey? It's rare to see you two apart.”

“No kidding!” Ed exclaimed from his perch at the riverbank. He hooked another worm onto the hook and recast his line. “The little kid's always following you around! It's pretty cute! I mean, at first, I thought it'd be like having a brat brother tag along to everything, but I guess I was wrong!”

“Mama Mikleo and baby Sorey,” Shiron teased. “He's definitely imprinted on you.”

Mikleo's cheeks coloured red. “It's not like that!” he protested.

“It's absolutely like that,” Mason argued with an amicable grin. Mikleo couldn't help but question the sincerity behind his pleasantness since he was positive that Mason's words were laced with a teasing mirth. “Anyway, how is the little guy?”

“Not so little any more,” Mikleo replied, suppressing the sigh of relief that threatened to heave from his chest. He really hated being compared to a mother. Why couldn't people call him a _brother_ instead? It wasn't as if he particularly doted on Sorey in one way or another. Sure, he indulged the child god on his adventures, but Mikleo would be lying if he said that he didn't enjoy it either. Ruins and artefacts and relics and treasure certainly were fascinating, and it was even better to have company with whom to discuss.

“Looks like he's starting puberty,” Shiron commented.

“Gramps seems to think so, too,” Mikleo answered. He pulled his knees towards his chest and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin atop of his arms. “I don't think Sorey wants to see me right now. Last I checked, he was hiding underneath the covers of his bed after his voice cracked.”

“Definitely puberty,” Mason mused, laughing. “He's just embarrassed. You're someone he really wants to impress.”

“For what reason?” Mikleo inquired as he buried his face into his arms. “I don't see how this correlates with avoiding me. I would get it if he got mad at me for laughing when his voice cracked, but I don't think he should be so embarrassed to go so far as hiding from me.”

“It's kind of like having a crush,” Shiron explained. “Like when Mason tripped over nothing in front of Natalie and choked on his spit, he looked like he wanted the world to swallow him up.”

“Hey!” Mason protested. The colour burning his cheeks rivalled the intensity of his hair. “I thought we agreed never to talk about that!”

“Did we?” Shiron replied teasingly in mock innocence. “I don't remember.”

“Oh man, I remember that!” Ed called over his shoulder with a loud cackle. “That was hilarious!”

Mikleo rolled his eyes and retorted, “You're scaring the fish, Ed!”

Before Ed could return Mikleo's comment, the tip of his pole began to bend and curve. His eyes widened in excitement before he dug his heels into the ground and exclaimed, “It's a big one this time! I can totally feel it in my bones! Gosh, this is heavy!”

“That's what he said last time,” Shiron whispered so that only Mason and Mikleo could hear him. A devious grin stretched across his lips as he said, “I bet you he just got the hook caught in the riverbed again.” Mikleo chuckled while Mason laughed more freely, only growing ever louder when Ed revealed that, indeed, he was missing even the hook this time.

Nobody mentioned how, because Sorey was going through puberty, it was a sign that the world would soon be in dire need of a Shepherd. However, when Mason suggested that they should train and when Shiron and Ed readily agreed, Mikleo knew that they had already figured it out as well.

“But, you know, Mikleo, you're pretty good at this already,” Ed remarked as he watched Mikleo draw a boundary separating them from a prickleboar.

Upon spotting the group of boys, it had begun to charge directly at them. However, Mikleo was quick to raise his right hand and, using only his index and middle finger, slash the air in front of him. A horizontal line of white light seared across the ground; particles of energy raised towards to the sky, forming an effective wall. The prickleboar then reared on its legs, squealed, and bolted away in the opposite direction after sensing, instinctively, that there was no way it could break the barrier Mikleo had raised.

Ed whistled, impressed, and said, “It took me _years_ to get it right, and I'm still no good at it.”

“I'll say,” Mason agreed wholeheartedly as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “and _we're_ the ones who taught you.”

Mikleo flushed in embarrassment and shook his head. “It's nothing really. I've been practising,” he insisted. He kicked off his shoes and rolled the legs of his trousers all the way up to his knees. He toed the surface of the water cautiously, and although he recoiled at the initial coolness, Mikleo stepped into the shallow waters of the river and ventured deeper until the water levels reached halfway up his calves. “Sorey has a lot of books on his shelves, and I found a couple that had some spells a regalia can learn. I've been reading it every night after he sleeps.”

“Self-training, huh?” Shiron thought aloud as he flung a smooth, flat pebble towards the river. It leapt off the water's surface, creating a series of ripples, before sinking to the riverbed below. “Aren't you dedicated?”

“There are spells that would be useful to know aside from boundaries,” Mikleo protested. If Sorey was to venture to the world below one day, to purify the world and exorcise evil spirits, then Mikleo had to be prepared for any worst case scenario. He had been drilling spells into his head for the last five decades until they became just as familiar to him as breathing. Sorey had only called his vessel name once, and as a weapon, he was still too heavy for Sorey to hold. Mikleo had to do his best in his human form in the meanwhile. “It's my duty as Sorey's regalia to keep him safe,” Mikleo stated, “and as a friend, I don't want to see any harm come to him. That's all there is to it.”

“You're a really good guy, Mikleo,” Shiron chimed.

“'Quite a lovely boy,' as some of the old ladies say around the village,” Ed teased. “Oh, Love-leo, how thou art so much like a smitten Romeo with thy sweet words!”

Mikleo flushed in embarrassment. “Don't come up with ridiculous nicknames on your own!” he snapped. “Don't use them as you please either!”

Ed sniggered and replied, “No, thanks! I think I will! Don't be so sensitive, Love-leo!”

Mikleo huffed and rolled his eyes. Just as Ed was lowering his guard, however, Mikleo sunk his fingers into the cool water and whipped a stream in his direction. The brunet yelped in surprise, but soon he was grinning just as mischievously. He kicked off his own shoes and pulled up the legs of his trousers. Before Mikleo could escape, Ed leapt into the water, splashing everyone in the immediate vicinity.

“Ed!” Mason and Shiron exclaimed, laughing.

“What are you doing, idiot?” Mikleo spluttered, his lips cracking into a smirk, before he retaliated. Shiron stripped off his tunic, kicked off his shoes, and charged into the river as well. Mason rolled his eyes, but he was already slipping off his shoes and joining them as well. Everyone ganged up against Ed, who had gotten all of them soaked with river water, before turning against Mikleo upon realising that the youngest regalia had started this mess in the first place.

“Okay, okay, knock it off, guys,” Mason warned lightly, resuming his role as the voice of reason for the bunch. He didn't bother hiding his grin, however, and it was clear that he wasn't telling everyone to stop in order to be reasonable, responsible regalias. Mikleo could tell that Mason was having trouble keeping himself together. That grin nearly split his face in half. “It's getting dark. We should head back before Kyme sends out a search party.”

They marched back to the village, tracking muddy footsteps across the grassy landscape, and left for their own homes. Mikleo trekked all the way to Sorey's house and quietly opened the door. He peeked inside and, while he found the main room to be rather dark, save for the crackling fireplace, noticed Sorey buried underneath his blankets, reading the Celestial Record by candlelight.

“I'm home,” Mikleo announced quietly.

“Wel-Welcome back,” Sorey stammered in reply.

He left his shoes outside to avoid staining the wood with mud and closed the door behind him. Quietly making his way to the drawer, he pulled out a cotton towel and began to dry his hair. Glancing at Sorey out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Sorey had been watching him—only to turn his head away the moment he was caught. Mikleo smiled subtly. “Are you okay?” Mikleo asked him.

“Yeah,” Sorey replied shortly.

Snatching a loose, long tunic and undergarments from his drawers, Mikleo moved behind the wooden screen to change out of his wet clothes, dropping them onto the floor with a plop, before hanging them on a laundry line outside. The white nightshirt fell to his knees, and because the sleeves stretched past his fingertips, Mikleo had to roll them up to the crook of his elbows. Mikleo sat at Sorey's side and peered over his shoulder. “'The Ladylake Aqueduct,' huh?” he read aloud. “Have you been reading all day?”

Sorey nodded stiffly. “Mikleo…” Sorey inhaled nervously and, in one breath, apologised, “I'm sorry!”

Mikleo blinked, bewildered, before his lips relaxed into a smile. “It's fine,” the teen assured. “As long as you're okay, then everything is well. I'm sorry, too, for laughing when your voice cracked. I wasn't making fun of you, Sorey.”

“I wasn't mad…” Sorey replied. “Not at you, Mikleo.”

Mikleo hummed. “Were you embarrassed?”

“Just a little,” Sorey admitted shyly.

“It's nothing to be embarrassed about,” Mikleo told him. “It's just a part of growing up.”

“It sucks that I'm the only one who has to go through it,” Sorey muttered.

“Doesn't it mean that you'll be growing stronger though?” Mikleo pointed out. “You're steadily growing into the image of the Shepherd.”

Sorey smiled. “That's true! Soon, I'll get stronger, and then we'll be able to fight together! We'll protect the humans and exterminate the phantoms!”

Mikleo nodded and, with a mischievous grin, tousled Sorey's hair. “That's right. So cheer up, Sorey. It's not like you to be depressed for so long.” Sorey flushed red with embarrassment. Mikleo glanced back towards the pages of the chapter Sorey was reading and thought aloud, “Still, it's been a while since we've read together like this…” Smiling warmly, Mikleo asked, “Do you want me to make some hot chocolate?”

Sorey returned his smile and replied, “I'll make it! I'm good at it, remember?” He popped out of bed with new-found energy, fetching a kettle from his cabinets and filling it with Elysian goat milk. He carefully placed it in the fireplace. Then he grabbed the cocoa powder from his shelves along with the sugar pot and mixed the two in a bowl with a pinch of salt. Mikleo observed fondly as Sorey worked diligently in the main room.

“Because Kyme taught you,” Mikleo recalled.

“Since all the grown-ups were drinking my offerings!” Sorey chirped from the distance with a short laugh. “They still do, actually, but that's fine. I like drinking hot chocolate with you anyway, Mikleo.” He grabbed two mugs, poured the warm milk within them, and mixed in the powder.

Mikleo hummed and commented, “Next time, I'll make some cookies for us.”

Sorey brightened as he walked back to the bed with two mugs of hot chocolate. He handed one to Mikleo and crawled back into bed. “Can you make vanilla ice cream, too?”

“Vanilla ice cream and hot chocolate?” Mikleo teased. “That's a peculiar combination.”

Sorey giggled and pushed Mikleo playfully with his shoulder, careful not to spill either of their mugs. “Not like that, silly. I just really like your ice cream,” he replied. “It'll be summer soon, so it'll get warmer, too! Perfect day for ice cream!”

“Okay, okay, I got it,” Mikleo replied. He blew into the mug, trying to cool down the hot drink, before taking a sip. Rich chocolate washed over his palate, and he smiled. “Tomorrow I'll make you ice cream—my thanks for the hot chocolate.”

“Can we go into the ruins later, too?”

“I don't see why we can't.”

That night, they sat, shoulder to shoulder, with an open book between them. Sorey was content to read aloud for the two of them, growing a bit more comfortable—but not really less embarrassed—with his changing voice, while Mikleo corrected him on his pronunciation on more difficult words. They slept with Sorey curled against Mikleo's body and Mikleo's slender arm draped across the child god's growing frame. The page was open on the chapter about the Origin Village, home of the Shepherd.

* * *

In the morning, Mikleo was woken up by the sound of heavy pounding against the front door of Sorey's house. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Mikleo's violet eyes adjusted to the light of day before a quiet yawn slipped past his lips. He pulled away from Sorey, scoffing lightly when he noticed the trail of drool dripping from the corner of the boy's lips. Mikleo rolled his eyes, muttering a sarcastic “How cute,” though he couldn't do anything about the smile that stretched across his lips and the fondness that bubbled in his chest.

Stretching and marching over to the front door, Mikleo threw a night robe over his shoulders and slipped his arms through the sleeves on the way out of the bedroom. He twisted the door knob and pulled the door open, not quite sure whom to expect. It was far too early for any of the guys to be awake, and the girls were probably fast asleep as well. The matrons of the village were probably still cooking breakfast for the younger regalias, and the older men were probably still dozing off if they weren't doing work—except for Old Man Taccio, who had always been an early bird.

He wasn't sure what to think when Kyme stood in front of him, genial as ever despite the early hour. The older regalia wore a pleasant smile as he greeted him just as amicably, “Good morning, Mikleo. Did you rest well?”

Mikleo glanced back at the bedroom, where Sorey stirred ever so slightly, and whispered, “Sorey is still sleeping. Did you need something, Kyme?”

The white haired man nodded and jumped directly into business. “Gramps has someone over that he would like you to meet—both you and Sorey, I mean.”

The younger regalia didn't miss the note of sobriety in his words. Mikleo reached across his body, his left hand holding onto his right arm at his elbow, unintentionally making himself as small as he felt, as he asked, “It can't wait?”

“He says to come as soon as possible,” Kyme answered. Though he tried to sound gentle, tried to alleviate Mikleo's worries, the silver haired teen could hear the urgency in his voice. “As soon as possible,” then, meant to come “right now.”

He nodded in response, letting the older regalia know that he understood his instructions, and said, “I'll get dressed and wake up Sorey. We'll be right over.” With a quiet sigh, Mikleo closed the door once Kyme pivoted on the heel of his shoe and stepped away from the porch.

Concern flitted across the fore of his thoughts. What could Gramps possibly want with them? Did it have something to do with their discussion yesterday? Once again, Mikleo subconsciously reached for his right arm as though he could physically hold himself together. It was about time for Sorey to begin his lessons as the Shepherd. Two centuries and a half was a long enough time to be without a Shepherd, and now the humans in the world below needed him once more.

It seemed too much to put that into the hands of a boy who only appeared between twelve and thirteen—even if he was a god.

Mikleo couldn't decide for Sorey though. He could only be there, at his side and willing, to follow him through thick and thin.

Returning to the bedroom, Mikleo changed into his usual attire and returned to Sorey's side. Placing a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, the regalia shook him, calling out his name in a song-like whisper, “Sorey… Sorey, it's time to wake up.”

Sorey muttered something and burrowed himself a hole in the mattress, pressing himself against the pillows, and made himself comfortable even with Mikleo's distraction. The regalia cracked a smile and mischievously lowered his hand, dancing over Sorey's sides, venturing right below his armpits. He braced himself for a possible counter-attack before he began, like the devil, tickling Sorey.

Sorey's eyes shot open—now certainly awake—as he squealed. Impulsively, he kicked up his feet, lifting up the blankets, but Mikleo gracefully dodged the attack with an impish grin on his lips. Sorey flushed red, pouting, as he mumbled, “What was that for?”

“I had to wake you up,” Mikleo replied, adopting a professional tone, as though nothing was out of the ordinary. In a sense, it wasn't. This wasn't the first time he had tickled Sorey, and Sorey had always tried, usually when the child god was already awake, to tickle Mikleo back. “Gramps wants to see us, so go get ready.”

“Okay,” Sorey murmured as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes and yawned. He tottered off the bed and trudged all the way to the dresser, where he pulled out a button shirt, a pair of shorts, and underwear from the drawers, before getting changed behind the wooden screen. Together, they hiked all the way up the biggest hill in Elysia to get to Gramps' house. There, Sorey didn't waste any time. He knocked politely on the door, announcing his presence, before entering the house. Mikleo followed after him.

In Gramps' room, there was a young lady with long, long silvery green hair that was tipped with a vermilion red at the ends. Her emerald eyes softened upon gazing at Sorey, and her lips curved delicately into a motherly smile. Mikleo had a thousand theories on who she is and what she could be doing here, but only one glance at Gramps confirmed his suspicions. “Sorey, this is the Shepherd's Sacred Sword. She was your predecessor's guidepost and lead regalia. Her vessel is passed down from Shepherd to Shepherd, eventually becoming symbolic of him in the world below, though I suspect you might have already known.”

“Lead regalia?” Sorey repeated. Mikleo glanced down at his young lord when Sorey grasped at the fabric of his clothes in discomfort. Sorey's voice was a mixture of fear and uncertainty, of nervousness and apprehension, and his countenance was purely of panic and concern. “But Mikleo's my regalia…”

The Sacred Sword lifted a hand to cover her pink lips. “Oh my!” she exclaimed. While the surprise was evident, Mikleo hadn't been expecting amusement to reveal itself in her eyes.

“Sorey,” Gramps addressed the young, innocent Shepherd, “you may have many regalias in your services—not just Mikleo. Just because the Sacred Sword is here, it does not mean that you must replace him.”

“But…” Sorey hesitated, and his hand strayed to seek comfort in Mikleo's. The teen grasped Sorey's hand in his own, encouraging him to speak. “I want Mikleo to be my lead regalia… He's my best friend.”

Before Gramps could pacify Sorey's concerns, the young woman spoke up and asked, “Lord Zenrus, may I speak?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied, gesturing for her to take the floor.

Mikleo didn't expect her to rise from her seat, cross the floor, and kneel in front of Sorey. The child god nearly shied away from her touch, inching ever closer to Mikleo until there was no space between the two of them, but he relaxed when she merely patted his head gently—just as a mother would.

“I do not expect to take Mikleo's place—not after witnessing how much he means to you—I promise you,” the young lady assured. “In the past, I was the Shepherd's guidepost, but I can see that you have already made your decision. Still, please allow me to serve you as your regalia, and I will humbly accept what honourable name you bestow upon me. I am here to teach you of what awaits you in the world below and to assist you however you see fit.”

There was a moment where the entire room was still. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Mikleo thought, just for a second, time had frozen them in place. However, Sorey eventually nodded, agreeing to the young lady's conditions, and gradually released his tight grip on Mikleo's hand. Then he removed her hand from his head and held it in his smaller hands.

She smiled at the sight, and Mikleo wasn't quite sure what to make of her expression. There was a bitter-sweetness in her countenance, almost as if she was lamenting. Mikleo glanced at Sorey's hands only to discover that his own heart felt constricted at the sight he shared together with the Sacred Sword.

Sorey was still young. His hands were not yet big enough to hold a sword, but the mortal realm would not wait for him to mature. Humans were always advancing—even if it was towards danger itself.

“Then, I'll name you Lailah,” Sorey declared, smiling warmly at the young lady.

Lailah returned his smile. “Thank you, Lord Sorey.”

Sorey squirmed at the title. “Just 'Sorey' is fine,” he assured her. “We're friends now, right?”

Her smile brightened, and the sadness in her eyes vanished in that moment as though Sorey had expelled the ghost of her past that haunted her. “That we are,” she replied, “Sorey.”

“Lailah,” Gramps called to the newly named regalia, “please join us for breakfast.”

* * *

“Where is Sorey?” Lailah inquired as she joined Mikleo at the hilltop overlooking the rest of the Celestial Realm. The blue sky was beginning to blend together with the ruby red of the sunset, forming rich violets of all shades, with cotton clouds all stretched out and scattered across the skies in soft pinks and oranges and yellows. She glanced at the youth beside her and smiled pleasantly. “It's beautiful, isn't it?”

“It is,” Mikleo agreed from his post. The silver haired teen had been leaning against one of the arches that led into Elysia with his arms crossed, a contemplative expression painting itself in the colours of the sunset against his delicate facial features. “Sorey is with Ed, Mason, and Shiron. They're teaching him how to hunt prickleboars since nobody knew any other way to teach him sword-fighting.”

Lailah smiled. “I see… He would have a distinct fighting style from the previous Shepherds. There were several of them who had gone to the mortal realm to study under the knights,” she recalled. “A couple of others had sought out a mentor—divine or human—to teach them the way of a swordsman.”

Mikleo was silent. Finally, he asked, “Is it a bad thing?”

Shaking her head, Lailah answered, “Not at all! I believe that each Sorey was— _is_ —an individual. This Sorey is not an exception though, I admit, there was not one Shepherd who had graduated from the prickleboar school before!”

The younger regalia cracked a smile. “I guess he's the first,” Mikleo commented.

Lailah giggled and then mused aloud, “I'm surprised you are not with him. You two seem close.” That was an understatement, and Lailah knew that. When she had suggested leaving the village, Sorey had absolutely refused—not without Mikleo, he had said. On the other hand, Mikleo couldn't leave the village because it was here in the Celestial Realm where he could learn from other regalias.

Mikleo huffed lightly, scowling at the memory of what had occurred a few minutes prior, in response to Lailah's earlier remark. “I was there,” the silver haired teen answered, “but then Ed and Shiron kicked me out. Really, what's with them?”

Lailah giggled. “Maybe they were afraid that you would coddle Sorey.”

“I wouldn't!” Mikleo protested, cheeks flaring the same red as her dress. “We both know that Sorey needs to grow stronger if he is to exterminate phantoms!”

Lailah hummed, clasping her hands together in front of her, as she pondered aloud, “Then maybe they thought that Sorey would try too hard to impress you. For instance, you would want to look good in front of the person you like!”

Mikleo considered how Mason had eaten dirt the time he had tried to impress Natalie. He shrugged his shoulders non-committally and replied, “I suppose. Sorey _is_ the type to overexert himself for the sake of others.” He sighed. “I hope that idiot is training properly.”

“That part of him has never changed,” Lailah agreed.

Mikleo was silent for a second, and then he asked, “Lailah, could you tell me about the previous Shepherds?”

She blinked at him, a bit baffled by his request, and then asked him, “For what reason?”

“If you've appeared, then it means we'll depart for the world below sooner or later,” Mikleo explained. His fingers curled into fists, but he levelled his voice, calmed himself, and said, “I don't know what the previous Shepherds were like, but this time I refuse to allow Sorey to think that it's okay to sacrifice himself because he is able to be reborn by the prayers of his followers. He's a good kid, and he'll grow into a kind, benevolent god. Regardless, Sorey has a right to exist as himself, too.”

Lailah smiled. “I think you will make a wonderful guidepost, Mikleo,” she told him. “Things will be different this time.”

Mikleo pursed his lips, and his fingers relaxed, unfurling from the fists they've formed, as he asked, “How do you know?”

“Because he chose you over me,” Lailah answered. “He has already made up his mind long before I came into the picture. A guidepost embodies a god's wishes and desires and guides him towards his goals. Sorey saw a future in you, and he chose that future over the one I could bring him. I'm glad.”

“Why?” Mikleo inquired hesitantly.

Lailah's smile faltered as she stared in the distance. “I knew a Sorey who loved to write, but he was never really any good at it. There was a Sorey before him who liked to cook, but he could only roast and smoke meat. He wasn't very talented with snacks or the more delicate of foods. There was a Sorey who loved children, but he could never have his own child. There was a Sorey who fell in love with a human, but he could never confess his love. There was a Sorey who loved songs and poetry, but nobody ever heard him sing. There was a Sorey who loved sports, but he could never play on a team.

“I've known many Shepherds,” Lailah stated, “who may have shared the same, if not similar, face, but they all carried different scars. Furthermore, not one of them has ever lived so long. They've always given themselves for someone else, for the sake of humanity or for the sake of balancing the world and righting wrongs. I've been a guidepost to many Shepherds, and in me, they saw their duty… because of that, they all shared the same fate. They've never met you, Mikleo, but _this_ Sorey did. Sorey sees something else in you, and I'm willing to witness what future unfolds before us.”

“Well, no pressure there,” Mikleo muttered sarcastically.

“I believe you'll do just fine,” Lailah assured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think they explained how gods get older in _Noragami_ , so I ended up basing most of it on concepts from _Natsume Yuujinchou_ and _Nurarihyon no Mago_.
> 
> In short, the more followers a god has, the stronger the god is. If faith in a god dwindles, so does the god's power. Hence, Sorey's awkward growth spurt.
> 
> Also, Mikleo isn't wearing just a nightshirt because I wanted to see him in a dress. Until the sixteenth century, men slept either naked or in a day-shirt. Afterwards, they started wearing nightshirts, which usually reached the thighs or below the knees. Since Zestiria has a medieval setting, I figured might as well go with medieval pyjamas. ~~Nobody probably cares, but Mikleo does look pretty cute in a nightgown.~~


	3. The Shepherd Named Sorey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Among the humans, there was a rumour about a ghost taking up residence in the mountains. It was only natural for Sorey to want to investigate, curious cat that he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From hereon, this will probably be updated weekly... in an ideal situation.

If Sorey was a human, Mikleo would have to say that he looked like a fifteen year old teenager. He had yet to grow into the image of a young man, but he was no longer the chubby cheeked child Mikleo remembered from years past. Sorey was still growing, and Mikleo didn't see any sign of his growth spurt slowing down.

Sorey was a god though. With how the world below was slowly becoming contaminated with blight and taint, Mikleo doubted that Sorey's growth would stunt any time soon, and the thought only brought a strange mixture of feelings to press against Mikleo's chest. He had suppressed them, smothering the slightest spark in fear of a bursting flame, so not to cause harm to Sorey.

Eventually, after years and years of training and lessons, Gramps had given Sorey permission to venture into the world below. “You will always be welcomed here,” the Elder had told him the day of Sorey's departure. “Be free and choose your own path to follow in life. Whatever decisions you make, they are just, for you are a god.”

Now Mikleo found himself accompanying Sorey through Lakehaven Heights with Lailah, on a quest in search of a rumoured ghost that lived on Rayfalke Spiritcrest. “Are ghosts real?” Sorey wondered aloud as he marched down the paved path leading towards the mountain range.

Mikleo only rolled his eyes in response, raised a fine brow, and crossed his arms in front of his chest as though to ask Sorey, “ _Really_?” Nonetheless, the only verbal reply Mikleo offered was, “There are two things it could be: a spirit or a phantom powerful enough to manifest in front of human eyes.”

Secretly, Mikleo wished it would be the former. Although Sorey had gotten stronger, there was no way the young god could handle something as mighty as an actual dragon. He simply didn't have enough experience on the field, and given how Sorey's battle talents leaned more towards swordsmanship, Mikleo couldn't say that they would get through the battle unscathed. Sorey's aim was terrible, and when an enemy got too close, the young god had a nasty (and rather painful) habit of whacking Mikleo's bow against them to gain space. Every single battle, Mikleo would insist that Sorey had to switch to Lailah if he wanted to get close and personal with the enemy.

Really, sometimes Mikleo questioned why Sorey made him his lead regalia.

Other times, Mikleo questioned why he couldn't have been a blade of sorts, something more useful to Sorey, but those times were rare and short-lived. Mikleo was sure to refrain from pondering the matter any more than he did; negative thoughts and emotions would only harm Sorey.

Lailah commented, “It's likely to be a spirit. A phantom would only migrate to where humans would live in order to feed off their negativity, and Rayfalke is fairly remote.”

“Then we better get there before it gets tainted,” Sorey concluded, subconsciously quickening his pace.

Mikleo rolled his eyes and picked up his own speed so that he could walk side by side with Sorey. “Calm down, Sorey,” the silver haired regalia chastised. “If you run and get there exhausted, you'll have no energy to battle off any phantoms that would appear.”

Sorey looked about ready to protest, but then Lailah agreed with Mikleo. “Mikleo is right, Sorey,” she stated. “Of everyone here, you're the only one who can fight. If something happened to you, Mikleo and I cannot do much on our own.”

Mikleo clapped a hand on Sorey's shoulder after the young god visibly deflated. “I know you're worried,” he said, “but if something happens to the hero, who would come in and save the day? Don't wear yourself thin, Sorey. Let's pace ourselves.”

With that, Mikleo took the lead, Lailah following suit, and Sorey jogged after them, bringing them all side by side once again. “Still,” Sorey thought aloud, “Rayfalke is a pretty weird place for a spirit to be. I hope they haven't been blighted yet.”

Mikleo hummed in acknowledgement and agreement. “If they've been there for a long time,” the silver haired regalia thought aloud, “then maybe they found a holy place that would protect them from getting tainted and devoured by phantoms.”

Lailah nodded her head and replied, “That is very much possible. Holy water, for instance, would be able to fend off phantoms, and so would sacred trees. Shrines and temples would also serve as an effective barrier against evil spirits.”

“Huh, that's how I found Mikleo,” Sorey recalled. His tone overflowed with fondness, and a grin stretched across his lips, spanning from ear to ear. “He was in the sacred waters at Camlann. I wasn't really sure if he was a gem or a spirit until I got closer.”

Mikleo flushed as Lailah giggled. The younger regalia elbowed Sorey out of embarrassment, muttering, “Don't say stupid things!”

“It's true though!” Sorey insisted, laughing as he rubbed the sore spot. “Well, let's hope for the best with this one.” An expression of determination carved itself in his visage as he set his sights upon the mountain in the distance.

* * *

Sorey sighed as he vanquished the final phantom that had caught them in a pre-emptive strike. “Revert, Lailah! Revert, Mikleo!” The sword in his hands disappeared in a flash of white, and in front of him, Lailah stood once again in her human form. The bow on his back did the same, and at his side appeared Mikleo. Sorey rubbed the back of his neck and tilted his head to the side in contemplation. “Still, I wonder why this place is attracting all sorts of phantoms. This is a little strange,” Sorey mused aloud. “If phantoms are attracted to negative energy, then why are they here? There isn't a human in sight.”

Lailah considered this and replied, “Maybe, instead of the humans, it is the mountain itself that is attracting the phantoms.”

Mikleo blinked and, holding his chin with his hand, inquired, “What do you mean exactly, Lailah?”

The older regalia glanced around the mountain path—as though in search for someone or something—and then answered Mikleo's question, “The previous Shepherd had been here before.” She hesitated, but knowing that the boys were anticipating more out of her explanation, Lailah brought herself to continue, “The summit is the place of his death.”

Mikleo could feel a shiver run down his spine. He glanced at Sorey, whose expression hadn't changed at all with the mention of his predecessor. “Do you think the phantoms could be gathering to feed on the remaining malevolence?” Sorey inquired curiously. “It's been a little over three hundred years though. How could it linger for that long?”

“The energy seeped into the earth,” remarked a dry, caustic voice behind the party of three, “and clung to the rocks, the trees, anything it can get its hands on.” Turning around, they met with a flat, unimpressed blue gaze belonging to a young girl with golden blonde hair. She sat behind a small shrine, resting on her knees, with an umbrella resting on her shoulder. “You're late, Shepherd.”

“Oh my!” Lailah exclaimed, pressing a dainty hand to her lips, as surprise overwhelmed her expression. “The little sister!”

“The Shepherd's Sword,” the young girl acknowledged with a nod of her head. “What's your name this time?”

“I'm Lailah,” she replied, pressing a hand against her heart, treasuring the name that was branded there. “This is, as you know, Sorey, and his lead regalia, Mikleo.”

The blonde arched a brow as she glanced over the silver haired teen. Mikleo fidgeted uncomfortably as she blatantly studied him, but the blonde returned her attention back to Lailah. “How come you're not the lead regalia?”

Lailah giggled and replied, “Sorey met Mikleo first.”

The young girl rolled her eyes. It wasn't much of an explanation, and Mikleo knew that. Still, the only person who knew about his exchange with Lailah was the Sacred Sword herself. It was their little secret.

“Anyway,” Lailah chirped, “Sorey, Mikleo, this is…” The older regalia faltered and pursed her lips together as she contemplated a way to introduce the spirit. “Oh dear.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “You know, if you weren't such a ditz, you'd be more respected,” she remarked. Lailah didn't take her words to heart and merely laughed. The spirit smiled wryly and, turning her attention to Sorey, said, “My older brother was the dragon you killed—well, your predecessor killed.”

Sorey's eyes widened. “What?”

“In the past, some time long, long ago,” the blonde elaborated, “he was a regalia for a small war god. A human village prayed to that god to help them defend against an attack from the imperial army, but war zones are the source for a great amount of malevolence. My brother became blighted, and, as a result, his vessel form dulled and became unusable. The war god abandoned him there to succumb to the phantoms.”

“And he became a dragon,” Mikleo concluded solemnly.

“Right,” the blonde confirmed. Although she attempted to feign detachment, Mikleo saw the blonde purse her lips together in obvious discomfort. “I kept him confined on this mountain to avoid bringing harm to the humans below, but then the previous Shepherd came along upon hearing some poor soul's prayer. He slew my brother but, in the end, died as a martyr. The excess malevolence, however, remained, and I stayed here, trying to contain what had poisoned my brother, to keep from spreading. Unfortunately, it only attracted more phantoms like moths to a flame.”

She sighed and raised her umbrella, pointing the tip at Sorey. “Give me a name, Sorey,” she demanded. “You promised last time that you would give me a new home and a new family.”

“I did?” Sorey questioned, bewildered, as he turned to Lailah for answers.

The older regalia nodded with a gentle smile. “You did,” she agreed.

Sorey whirled around to face the blonde once again. Grinning, he pushed aside the umbrella and stretched out a hand. “Come on, Edna. We have a mountain to purify,” he chirped.

She huffed lightly but smiled wryly. “You're as kind-hearted as ever,” Edna remarked before accepting Sorey's hand. He pulled her onto her feet, and for the first few seconds, Edna was unstable after sitting at the shrine for so long. She hobbled past Sorey though, using her umbrella as a cane, and accidentally stabbed Mikleo in the foot. The silver haired regalia hissed in pain, but Edna did nothing to hide the amusement that crossed her delicate features. “Sorry, Meebo.”

“Meebo?!” Mikleo repeated, incredulous and indignant.

“Your name is too hard to say,” Edna explained. Taking the lead, she announced, “The summit is this way. You better finish what your predecessor started, Sorey.”

“Of course!” Sorey answered, bright and optimistic. “I'll take it from here! Thanks for all of your hard work, Edna!”

The golden haired regalia flushed under the attention and spluttered, “D-Don't push yourself too hard, Sorey!” Mikleo grinned, chuckling quietly, as Edna reeled, taken off track by the unexpected response. “Anyway, it wasn't like it was particularly difficult work!”

“Still, you must have been really lonely all this time,” Sorey insisted. He tilted his head to the side as he concluded, “You were the ghost scaring the humans away for their own good, right? It must have been tough!”

“N-Not really,” she muttered, opening up her umbrella so that she could hide behind its cover.

Lailah giggled and chirped, “I'm happy you joined our family, Edna!”

“Weird family,” Edna commented, but there was no way that anyone could mistake the warmth in her eyes. Even the smile that graced her lips was, this time, not malicious or mischievous.

Unfortunately, the peace was short-lived. Because the malevolence accumulated at the summit, the trek upwards was laden with phantom after phantom attacking in massive hordes. With Luzrov Rulay on his back and Fethmus Mioma in one hand, Sorey pushed back one of the phantoms with a heavy punch using his left hand. Edna hummed, and her flat voice rang loud and clear in Sorey's mind as she mentioned, “Sorey, you have quite an unconventional style of combat.”

Sorey shook his left hand, donned with a dark leather glove plated with steel at the knuckles, as he apologised, “Sorry, Edna! Did that hurt?”

“The point of armour is to protect the user,” Edna quipped. “As a pair of gloves, I'm supposed to protect your hands. The question is, Sorey, are _you_ hurt?”

Sorey laughed and replied, “That last punch stung a little, I admit,” he confessed, “but I'm fine.”

“Then I'm fine,” Edna assured him.

Mikleo chuckled. “It sure is convenient for your vessel form to be a pair of gloves, Edna,” the silver haired regalia remarked. “This way, I won't have to deal with his clammy hands all over my bow. Thanks for taking one for the team.”

“Hey!” Sorey snapped, blushing furiously in embarrassment. “Sorry for having clammy hands! I just get nervous if the fight drags on for too long! You'd sweat, too, if you were the one running around!”

Mikleo huffed and, in a teasing lilt, remarked, “That doesn't make it any less unpleasant, Sorey.”

“Then think of this way,” she retorted. “I'm the one who has to be in contact with your the curves of your bow— _Lady Meebo_. You're quite slender and supple, by the way. All the other archers must be quite jealous of Sorey.”

Mikleo spluttered, indignant, while Sorey chuckled nervously. Lailah tittered quietly, whispering an astounded, “Oh my!”

The rest of the hike involved quite a bit of pointless banter that consisted mostly of Mikleo and Edna tossing back and forth insults and jabs. Sorey got caught up in the middle, and Lailah did little to defuse the situation. “I'm glad that everyone's getting along just fine!” Lailah chirped.

In the end, the only thing that worked to get everyone calmed down was Sorey pleading for them to stop practising their comedy routine inside his head. That was only when they finally reached the summit though, so there really was no point. For all Sorey knew, they could have fallen silent upon sighting the massive onslaught of phantoms that had been lurking at the summit. They took one glance at Sorey and then leapt at the Shepherd, who braced himself for battle.

Before Sorey could charge forward, a white line seared itself across the ground, erecting a barrier of light. The phantoms retreated, leaping away from the boundary, in repulsion while Sorey stared at it, dumbfounded. He quickly pivoted on his heel upon hearing a boisterous cry, “Yo, Sheps! It's certainly been a while, hasn't it? I'd say three hundred years or so, yeah?”

Edna, upon recognising the speaker, voiced her irritation. “Geh,” she mumbled. “It's the stalker.”

Sorey glanced back at the phantoms before turning his attention back to the new spirit who obviously had experience being a god's regalia. He assumed the form of a tall man with dark, tanned skin that had white tattoos etched across his bare chest. His long, white hair was wild and untamed, fading into a verdant green at the tips. “You know each other?” Sorey asked—his inquiry aimed more towards Edna.

“Unfortunately,” she mumbled.

The male spirit grinned, “Well, if it isn't the little miss! Finally came out of the shrine, eh? Makes my job a lot harder, to be honest.”

Edna scoffed. “I never asked you to protect me; don't do unnecessary things.”

“You may not have asked for it,” the male spirit conceded, “but I promised your brother.”

“Can we save the story for another time?” Sorey inquired hastily as he saw the spirit's boundary begin to crack, overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of the phantoms and the accumulating strength they've gathered. The young Shepherd braced himself when the boundary shattered, and the phantoms surged forward like a sweeping current. He only stole a single glimpse at the male spirit, and that was enough for Sorey to realise that, despite his experience as a former regalia, there was little the spirit could do on his own.

Mikleo didn't even have a chance to ask Sorey if he was sure about his decision. Sorey had already exclaimed, “Come, Wirukun Zavie!”

“ _Ehh_?” cried the male spirit, who then promptly vanished at his lord's call.

In Sorey's left hand appeared a short sword the perfect length for parrying and guarding against attacks. Panic rose in Mikleo's head as he realised that they never quite covered dual wielding in the prickleboar school. He didn't need to remind Sorey, who hurriedly adjusted his grip and used the short sword to slash at an oncoming phantom.

“Zaveid,” Sorey said with a little grin, taking a quick step to the side to evade a phantom that hurled at him. “That's your name. I should let you know I don't have much expertise in the two sword style.”

Zaveid burst into raucous laughter. “You're a mighty fine piece of work, Mr. Shepherd!” he mused. “I guess this calls for some on the job training! No better way to learn than field work!”

Sorey balanced Fethmus Mioma in one hand, adapting to having all the weight in just one hand, and slashed through another phantom with his long sword. When another phantom lunged at him, Sorey instinctively flipped the grip on Wirukun Zavie and punched the shadow creature head-on. The recoil allowed the blade of the short sword to slice through the phantom, and Zaveid cackled. “Hey! You're getting the hang of this pretty well, and it's only been a few minutes!”

Mikleo sighed, a fond smile gracing his lips, as he teased, “I guess I should have expected this from the prodigious talent who graduated from the prickleboar school.” Everything Sorey did was based on instinct and impulse; Mikleo felt rather foolish for worrying so much. Sorey would have thought of something.

After gaining some ground from the enemies, Sorey sheathed both blades into their scabbards and removed Luzrov Rulay from his back. “Are you sure?” Mikleo asked him.

“I'm going to sweep the area,” Sorey replied.

“You can barely shoot one arrow,” Mikleo remarked dryly as Sorey formed five arrows of light in his hand. He sighed when Sorey turned the bow horizontally and mumbled, “You can barely shoot with a relaxed hand. Turning it sideways requires a firmer grip.”

Sorey grinned sheepishly and responded, “I'm counting on you, Mikleo.”

“Of course,” Mikleo answered. “Just leave the aiming to me. I'll make sure you'll hit something—as long as you have a decent draw.” As the phantoms inched closer, Sorey stepped back and, at Mikleo's command, raised his hand a little higher, attempting to keep his aim steady as he drew back the bowstring. “Now, Sorey!”

Sorey's fingers loosened on the cluster of arrows. The soared above the ground, the white beams of light ripping across the mass of phantoms. Zaveid whistled, impressed, as the number of phantoms lowered significantly. Sorey cheered, twirling Luzrov Rulay in his hand until he could hitch the bow rightfully onto his back, and drew his blades, charging head first into the fray.

* * *

“So you were friends with Edna's older brother,” Sorey concluded. The Shepherd sat upright on one of the two inn beds in their room, his legs crossed, as he listened diligently to Zaveid's tales. The girls were in a separate room, preparing for bed after a long day's work. “You met him through a war god and worked together.”

“That's romanticising it a little,” Zaveid mused aloud from his spot against the wall. “The fact of the matter was that we were regalias of a war god. Among his 'arsenal,' so to speak, we got along the best. Eizen—that was the name of Edna's brother at the time—was a shield, and I was a broad sword. We were used quite a bit, he and I, but the master preferred a battleaxe himself. That was his lead regalia. With a halberd, he could cause as much bloody damage as he wanted, injuries and wounds to his person be damned. Everyone else, as far as he was concerned, was disposable once they were no longer useful.”

“And that's what happened to Eizen,” Mikleo concluded from behind the wooden screen separating him from the rest of the room. He hung his day clothes over the edge and stepped out from behind the screen, arms crossed over his chest, wearing his usual nightshirt and bearing his usual attitude. “From what Edna's told us, he was abandoned and left to the blight.”

A grin stretched across Zaveid's lips, and neither Sorey nor Mikleo could exactly read it. The older regalia kept his eyes trained on Mikleo though, glancing over him up and down from top to bottom, and replied in a more serious note, “That was exactly what happened. I didn't appreciate what he did to my old friend there, so my blade dulled in rebellion. The bastard threw me away as well. After that, I tried to go after Eizen, tried to save him from the taint, but it was already too late. Eizen was beyond saving.”

Zaveid chuckled bitterly. “I knew from the beginning,” remarked the older regalia, “that it'd be impossible anyway. A spirit can't do anything by himself. There's only so many spells we can use, and forming an effective barrier is only possible with a group of three regalias.”

“But you still had to try,” Sorey deduced.

“We were friends,” Zaveid replied. “He told me to protect his sister, so I did. I had half a mind to save him, too, but there aren't many willing participants to conduct a purification ceremony—especially for a dragon. In the end, you brought him salvation—well, your predecessor.”

Zaveid pushed himself off the wall and approached Mikleo. “Still, I guess it's not so bad if I work with you, Sheps.” His amber eyes glowed with a spark Sorey couldn't place, but then Sorey noticed—with building disapproval and discomfort—that Zaveid's eyes were raking over Mikleo's legs. “Not bad at all.”

“Wha-what?” Mikleo spluttered, squirming under Zaveid's attention.

His eyes roamed over the expanse of milky, translucent skin that bruised all too easily. The harsh violets, dark blacks and blues, and violent reds would contrast all too greatly on the pale canvas—smooth, gentle, and flawless as it was. Sorey gulped, swallowing a lump in his throat, as he imagined—tanned fingers trailing against soft porcelain like light brush strokes—lithe, nimble fingers holding onto firmer arms—and tried desperately to gain a hold of himself and his thoughts.

Zaveid's voice snapped him back into reality. “You know, Mickey boy, you're quite… slender and supple,” Zaveid commented as he snaked an arm around Mikleo's small shoulders. Sorey wanted to protest, but there was a tingling sensation crawling up his spine—quite unpleasant, really—that he couldn't name. Again, Sorey's words hitched in his throat, but he wasn't sure of the cause. It was already too late for guessing though. “Almost like a woman. Since there's only two beds, how about sharing one with me? I don't kick—”

“ _Ouch_!”

Sorey winced, grasping the back of his neck instinctively. Within seconds, Mikleo flew to his side, disregarding Zaveid altogether, and hurriedly asked Sorey what was wrong. A comforting hand grasped the young god's shoulder, and Mikleo's other hand clenched onto the bedsheets as a testimony to his concern, curling and uncurling around the fabric, needing something to do, needing a way to vent, while waiting for Sorey's response.

“It just stung,” Sorey muttered, uncertain himself.

Mikleo gently pried Sorey's hand off his neck and gasped upon noticing the purplish bruise there—except it wasn't a bruise. The silvery blue haired regalia had seen such a rash often enough now to know what it truly was—blight. “How?” he muttered. “We just cleared an entire mountain's worth of phantoms. There shouldn't be any evil spirits left unless—” Mikleo paused. A god would receive all of his regalia's burdens, all of his regalia's sins and emotions and pain. He stole a glimpse of Zaveid, who was grinning deviously at the two of them.

“Oh, I see how it is…” he mused aloud. His eyes were trained on how Sorey's hand was tightly gripping at Mikleo's wrist, pulling him ever closer. “Don't worry, Sheps. I got the message; Mickey boy is off limits. Enjoy your night together!”

“Are you going to be okay?” Mikleo inquired of Sorey, continually ignoring Zaveid's probes. “It doesn't look so serious right now, but we should purify it soon. I think there's a sanctuary here in Ladylake with a sacred fountain. I don't think we should wait until morning—”

“Stay here,” Sorey told Mikleo. “Don't leave.” When he looked up to Mikleo's shocked visage, Sorey smiled warmly. “I can go by myself.”

There's no way Sorey would let Mikleo venture through Ladylake in just a nightshirt, and Sorey knew Mikleo would do it if it was for his sake. Dignity be damned; Mikleo would make sure that Sorey was safe and well and healthy. Mikleo had promised him when they first met, after all, that he would keep Sorey safe. Sorey never questioned Mikleo's dedication, but it never eased his concern for Mikleo either.

“At least take someone with you,” Mikleo pleaded. “Even if you're a god, the city isn't safe at night.”

“Mickey boy is right, Sheps,” Zaveid chirped, approaching the young god and clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Let ol' Zaveid escort you to the sanctuary. It's the least I can do after all that trouble.”

Mikleo narrowed his eyes at the older regalia, but Sorey didn't seem opposed to the idea. In fact, Sorey would do anything at this rate to get Zaveid's lecherous eyes off Mikleo. Sorey gripped Mikleo's hand tightly, squeezing it, before smiling and saying, “I promise I'll be safe. I'll be right back. Don't worry.”

Hurt crossed Mikleo's visage, and guilt wrenched at Sorey's heart like a set of claws. Nonetheless, Sorey tried to smile assuringly at Mikleo and pressed a kiss against his forehead—like how Mikleo used to do when he was a child god—revelling in how red the smaller boy turned. “I'll be right back,” Sorey repeated. The young god forgot entirely that he had an audience of one as he gently touched Mikleo's forehead with his own, making sure to meet his amethyst eyes. “Stay here and wait for me.”

With that, Sorey and Zaveid marched off in the direction of the Ladylake Sanctuary, closing the door behind them. “So what's with you and Mickey boy?” Zaveid asked the moment they were out of the inn.

“I've known him since I was a kid,” Sorey replied.

“Ah, so you're just pining after him,” Zaveid concluded. He chuckled when Sorey flushed with embarrassment. “Don't worry, Sheps. I'm a man of my word. I won't touch him, won't look at him, and won't tell anyone a word of tonight. I prefer the daintier ladies anyway.”

“Then why did you…” Sorey faltered, leaving Zaveid guessing at his original question.

“Mikleo is a beautiful boy,” the older regalia replied. “You'd have to be blind as a bat not to see that. Even if his personality needs some work.”

“His personality is just fine,” Sorey muttered, affronted.

“Your opinion doesn't count,” Zaveid quipped playfully. “You're already head over heels for him. Still, you're a strange one, Sheps. Most gods would just exile their regalia once they've been stung. I know you know it was me. You received my thoughts, after all.”

Sorey replied, “It's just petty if I released you from our contract because of that. Even if I don't like it, I don't think you're a bad person, Zaveid. You were once human, so you have more complex emotions than a god can imagine. It's one thing if you did something illegal and sinful, but you shouldn't be punished for feeling an emotion.

“Plus, it'd be hypocritical of me to do that. At first,” Sorey confessed sheepishly, “I wasn't sure if it was you or me.”

Zaveid grinned wolfishly. “Our Shepherd isn't as pure as the legends say!” He patted Sorey on the back almost approvingly. “It's going to be one hell of a pleasure working with you, Sorey!”

Sorey chuckled. “I'm glad we reached an understanding, Zaveid.” As long as Zaveid kept his hands to himself, then everything would be fine. He'd make sure of it.

The two of them crept into the Sanctuary, quietly tiptoeing to the fore of the room, before Sorey could scoop his hands into the cool waters brimming with holy powers. A sigh of relief slipped past his lips the moment the sacred water splashed over the back of his neck. Zaveid hummed in confirmation that the signs of blight receded.

“Since we're already out,” Zaveid mused, “why don't we pick something up for Mickey boy? Just to appease him. It's never a good thing to come home to an angry mistress.”

Sorey flushed, mumbling, “We're not married yet—” He halted immediately, but it was already too late. A shit-eating grin splayed itself on Zaveid's lips as mirth and mischief brightened his amber eyes. The damage was done.

“'Not yet,' huh?” Zaveid repeated teasingly. “So you're already thinking so far into the future, Sheps. 'Mister and Missus Shepherd,' eh? Not a bad ring to it.”

“An-anyway!” Sorey spluttered, trying to cover up his mistake. “I don't think there are any bakeries open this late! Mikleo likes to have madeleines or biscuits with his morning tea. We'll have to pick them up after waking up! His favourite bakery opens pretty early, so we can go before Mikleo wakes up and surprise him.”

“I'm coming with you?” Zaveid inquired. The smirk hadn't faltered in the slightest. “I'm honoured, Sheps.”

“You made him mad, too,” Sorey mumbled.

“I figured he was ignoring me,” the older regalia acquiesced.

Once they returned to the inn, their room was only illuminated by the moon. Zaveid crept to his bed and collapsed onto the mattress, grunting a quick “goodnight” to his room-mates. Sorey kicked off his boots and removed his brown traveller's cloak, hanging it on the coat rack near the door, before he crawled onto the right side of the bed, knowing that Mikleo favoured the left. A loud, boisterous snore erupted from Zaveid's side of room, and Sorey wasn't exactly sure whether the older man was already asleep or not.

Sorey inched closer to Mikleo, who was too tense to be asleep. As he was wont to do, especially when he was younger, Sorey wrapped his arms around Mikleo's waist. He could feel Mikleo relaxing under his touch and hid his smile into the crook of Mikleo's neck. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It's not that you're incapable. It's just that I didn't want you exposed in the dark with only a nightshirt, and you wouldn't even care because you'd just worry about the blight. I mean, it's night-time and it's cold and—” _you're beautiful “_ —and I'm sorry, Mikleo, really.”

Mikleo didn't respond. Sorey squirmed uncomfortably, but he didn't let go. He refused.

Finally, Mikleo spoke, asking him, “How is it?”

“It's fine now,” Sorey replied. “I told you not to worry, didn't I?”

Mikleo huffed indignantly, muttering, “It's only natural to worry when it's you, Sorey. You have a nose for trouble.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You mean, 'goodnight,'” Mikleo corrected sharply.

Sorey chuckled softly. “Goodnight, Mikleo.”

“Goodnight, Sorey.”

In the morning, Sorey untangled himself from Mikleo with the greatest reluctance Zaveid had ever seen anyone muster, and together the two of them hiked all the way to the heart of the city. Sorey diligently picked up a batch of freshly baked madeleines from Mikleo's favourite bakery. After returning to the inn room, while Mikleo was still sleeping, he brewed his love some tea, preparing it in the way he knew would appeal to Mikleo's palate—with a bit of sugar and a dash of milk.

The aroma of brewed tea leaves and warm madeleines roused Mikleo out of his slumber. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Mikleo's fair lashes fluttered as he adjusted his sight to the morning rays, and then he blinked, both confused and curious, once he laid his sights upon what awaited him. Sorey smiled, all bright and warm, and gestured for Mikleo to join him.

When Mikleo returned his smile, Sorey knew his apology had been accepted.

The only thing that made the morning better was how Zaveid didn't say a single word about their relationship. Unfortunately, his silence didn't last for the rest of the day, but Sorey supposed that was to be expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In _Noragami_ , the pact between a god and a regalia states that the god must provide the regalia with the utmost basic living necessities. The god must also train the regalia if they are new. The god also bears the burden of a regalia's emotions and a regalia's sins, if any are committed. If a regalia commits a sin, such as lecherous staring in Zaveid's case, then the god gets a stabbing/stinging pain at the back of his neck. Continued sinning would result in blight, and the blight would spread if nothing is done about the source -- such as disciplining the guilty regalia.
> 
> Regalias, then, are responsible for controlling their emotions and actions. Because they are connected to their god by the name bestowed upon them, the god in charge can feel their regalias' strong, intense emotions, including guilt and death. Regalias, as former humans, have a sense of moral right and wrong, but gods, as Zenrus said above, are always just and free to do as they please.


	4. The Burdens of a God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble is brewing in Elysia. What's this talk about a dragon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although there's no **major** character death, there is a **minor** one.

While Sorey got a little older, a little taller, enough to appear the human equivalent of seventeen or eighteen years, over the next couple of decades, Mikleo didn't change at all, and Sorey didn't do himself any favours when he pointed it out one day. “Mikleo, have you always been this small?” the brunet inquired innocently, by no means intending any insult to Mikleo's already injured pride.

The silvery blue haired boy scowled and smacked Sorey on the arm. “You just grew too much,” Mikleo snapped. A part of him knew, too, that Sorey would only continue to grow into an adult form while Mikleo would forever stay eighteen.

It wasn't as though he minded. After all, Mikleo had come to terms with the fact that he had died long ago. It was comfortable here in the Celestial Realm anyway with Sorey and the residents of Elysia, where everyone didn't just treat each other like family—where everyone _was_ family. He was grateful to Sorey who had introduced him to his world, who had given him a second chance at life, even if the brunet was just an oblivious, innocent child back then. Even now, he was still oblivious and innocent.

“You really like this pond, don't you?” Sorey mused aloud, undeterred by Mikleo's earlier actions and words. Their first few years together was more than enough time to get used to one another's presence—namely their own personal quirks. Now Sorey couldn't even fathom an existence without Mikleo. They had been together ever since Sorey came up to Mikleo's waist, and Sorey planned on staying together, too, for the rest of their lives.

Nevertheless, no matter how many years had passed, Mikleo always found the time to go back to this little pond hidden away by the trees of the forest. Sometimes he would simply soak his feet in the waters. Other times, he would sleep underneath the shade of the nearby trees. This time, certainly not the first or last time, he had intended to bathe in the pond. The spirit was already stripping off his outermost coat, kicking off his shoes, and slipping off his trousers. Neatly folding his clothes and draping them over a low tree branch, Mikleo waded into the pond until the water came up to his waist. A pair of eyes focused on his lithe form, and the silver haired teen glanced over to the side, only to notice that Sorey was staring at the name imprinted slightly above his left hipbone in the ancient tongue like a red brand on Mikleo's flawless skin.

They've known that his name had been engraved into Mikleo's being ever since their beginning, but Sorey never saw the proof of his “ownership” that often. The times Mikleo had bathed in front of him at the pond were especially rare.

“It makes me feel safe,” Mikleo answered. Sorey's heard that response plenty of times to know that there wasn't any need for Mikleo to elaborate. This was where he had escaped becoming prey to a malevolent spirit's hunger. This was where the holy water had protected him from becoming tainted. This was where he had been waiting for someone to find him and to save him from solitude. This was where he had met Sorey.

Changing the subject, Mikleo asked Sorey, “Is it really okay for you to be here?” The spirit cupped water into his hands, splashing it onto his visage. A stray droplet trickled down his porcelain cheeks like a crystal tear before dripping off his chin. Sorey watched as Mikleo's fingers weaved through his silvery blue hair, sparkling iridescent underneath the sunlight, and pushed back his long bangs, revealing the sapphire jewel embedded within the golden circlet he always saw Mikleo wear.

_Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful._

Sorey suppressed those thoughts. He knew already that Mikleo was beautiful and just as tempting as a siren—though not purposefully. He had known throughout the time they'd known each other, when he was ageing and growing stronger, when he was no longer blind to the stray glances thrown to Mikleo by others, gods and regalias and phantoms and humans alike, when he was no longer blind to the stray glances thrown to Mikleo by Sorey himself.

Pulling his attention back to something else, to thoughts other than Mikleo's beauty, his eyes again caught sight of the spirit's circlet. He had seen it somewhere else before as well, but that was neither here nor in the future. Sorey kept the memory locked up in the back of his head, never daring to brush the topic, and Gramps' voice reminded him again, ominously, that a disaster would unfold should he ever reveal a god's most guarded secret. Not only that, but it would be more of a danger to Mikleo than it would be to him, and that was what frightened Sorey the most.

Gramps had told him what it meant a few decades ago after he had deemed Sorey old enough to understand the consequences of his actions.

_You would lose Mikleo permanently should you reveal a god's most guarded secret. He would be entirely tainted, becoming obsessed with his past life, and he would lose control over his own senses, becoming a phantom himself._

_Not just any phantom, Sorey. He would become a dragon._

It was the last time such a topic was mentioned.

Sorey snapped out of his thoughts when he saw that Mikleo was giving him a pointed stare, silently admonishing him for dazing off when they were having a conversation. The brunet was quick to respond uncertainly to Mikleo's previous inquiry, “What do you mean?” He blinked innocently, hoping that was enough to put him under the silver haired teen's good graces.

Mikleo rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his bare chest, and chided the young god, “You're the Shepherd. People are always praying to you to protect them. Don't you have phantoms to exorcise in the human world? What are you doing in the Celestial Realm?”

“Well,” Sorey grinned sheepishly, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck, as he replied, “ _you're_ here. I'm not going without you.” It didn't feel right without Mikleo. It never did. Even when he had adopted other spirits as his regalias over the years, he always seemed to come straight back to Mikleo. Lailah, ever so understanding, only smiled sympathetically towards Sorey whenever Mikleo chastised him. Edna and Zaveid, on the other hand, were merciless with their teasing.

“It'd be better if you used Lailah and Zaveid here in close combat,” Mikleo had scolded after a time when Sorey was engaging a phantom that had manifested itself in a human villager's home. “My bow might be capable of guarding against attacks, but it's not made of metal, you know? I'm going to crack one day if you keep this up.”

Nevertheless, Mikleo had never stung Sorey with his actions. On the other hand, Zaveid, once, nearly caused the Shepherd to become tainted with how he was constantly ogling and chasing after women. Sorey's newest regalia wasn't at all spared a lecture from both Mikleo and Lailah (as well as teasing and literal jabs from Edna), but even though the other gods had urged Sorey to release Zaveid from their pact, Sorey was adamant on giving Zaveid a second chance. “It's not like he meant to do it, you guys!” Sorey had insisted. “Besides, it wasn't that much blight—nothing a little sacred water couldn't handle! I'm purified now, so all's well that ends well!”

Afterwards, Sorey had been chastised by Mikleo for being too forgiving.

Sighing, the silvery blue haired teen submerged himself deeper into the pond water. “You know, Lailah and Zaveid would be a better option than me considering the situation,” Mikleo remarked. “They're actually a sword and a dagger you can use for frontal attacks and guarding. Edna is a pair of gloves, so she'll be able to help with damage control anyway.”

“But you'll still come with me, right?” Sorey insisted.

Mikleo smiled softly, and Sorey could feel his heart skip a beat in his chest. “Do I even have a choice?” he replied. Shifting back to his usual attitude, he quipped, “You can't do a single thing without me.”

Sorey chuckled and responded, “That just might be true.”

The brunet waited patiently as Mikleo sauntered out of the pond, tracking water everywhere, and dressed himself in his blue and white robes. Jade eyes lingered a second much too long on the spirit's every movement, only to shift away once Mikleo was done. The silver haired teen glanced towards his lord with a tinge of impatience flashing in his amethyst eyes. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Mikleo cocked his head to the side and asked dryly, “Well? What are you waiting for?”

A grin stretched across Sorey's lips, and just as usual, he snatched Mikleo's hand, dragging him in the direction of their home, in order to regroup with their team-mates.

* * *

Sometimes they stayed on the surface world for extended periods of time, travelling and exorcising phantoms. Cities were always infested with phantoms who took to the civilians' negativity like a moth to a flame. On a couple of occasions, however, a rural settlement would be even worse. While cities would be composed of various cases, rural settlements were usually one massive case where they had to dig to the root of the cause in order to eliminate the threat. Complex cases probably exhausted them more than numerous cases.

Once Sorey and his regalias cleansed Ladylake from top to bottom, they returned to their home in the Celestial Realm. Sorey's domain was located right next to Gramps' village of Elysia, an entire lot of land called Camlann. During his time as a young god, Gramps would let him have some leeway in exploring his own domain after he had been able to defend himself properly from various spiritual creatures and phantoms, leading to his encounter with Mikleo.

Now as a young god, since Sorey didn't have as many regalias as Gramps, he never needed to build a village, and because of his nature, he didn't feel the need or desire to construct a grand manor like the one where the Goddess of Fortune lived.

Instead, Sorey and Mikleo made their home in the temple ruins of Artorius' Throne situated in the middle of the woods. They had managed to restore the ground floor and the majority of the upper level into proper living conditions, not yet touching the cellars and the basement—not that they really had anything to store down there. It was an ongoing project between the two of them, and occasionally the other spirits (and even a handful of other gods) would offer their help as well. Even after all of this time, they never bored of exploring their own home, uncovering hidden passageways and secret rooms on every rainy day.

Sorey had insisted there was more than enough room for all of them in the temple ruins as well, so Edna took up residence in one of the suites farthest from Mikleo and Sorey's shared chambers, refusing to be anywhere near what she called the “love nest.” (After centuries spent sharing an entire house, including the bed, together, it was a hard habit for Sorey and Mikleo to break.) Lailah, too, occupied a suite a fair distance away from their chambers. Zaveid, on the other hand, gladly took up Sorey's offer and ended up receiving an entire tower all to himself. No one else really wanted to climb four flights of stairs to get there anyway—especially after fulfilling a particularly tedious prayer.

After they ascended to the Celestial Realm, Sorey's first thought was to inform Gramps that he and Mikleo had returned, and he immediately departed for Gramps' domain. In the meanwhile, Lailah and the others returned to their homes, more than ready for a long, decent rest after all of their hard work.

The grin faltered from Sorey's lips the moment his emerald eyes fell upon the grim mood that hung over Gramps' village like a dark rain cloud. “What's wrong?” he asked the first spirit he spotted—Kyme. The taller man glanced around him and then gestured for Sorey and Mikleo to follow him. “The children will hear,” he explained. Gramps had adopted some children spirits over time. Several of them had died before even being able to conceive the concept of death, so a few of them still hadn't realised they were dead. Thus, they remained in Elysia, unaffected by the flow of time.

Once they were a fair distance away from the others, Kyme stated, “Someone's tainted Gramps.” Sorey's eyes widened with surprise, and before the young god could ask what had happened, Kyme continued to explain, “Mason died. Something… some phantom, I guess, killed him. Gramps felt his death, and after he told us, it affected some of us too strongly.” He lifted a hand, covering his eyes, concealing his tears, and rambled, “I guess someone became too obsessed with trying to remain strong, but we don't want to doubt anyone. We're family, after all… But we don't have a way of helping Gramps at this rate.”

Kyme reached out for Sorey, grasping his shoulder, and asked, “Please, Sorey, you're the Shepherd. You help humans with impurities all the time, and you defeat phantoms all the time. Please, _please_ do something to help us. I can't suspect my own family. I couldn't even imagine such a possibility in the first place.”

He dropped his head—low enough to be a bow—and Mikleo immediately elbowed past Sorey, stepping in front of his friend, and remarked, “Kyme, raise your head. It's a slight to Gramps. A regalia should never bow his head to another god; it undermines your loyalty. You've told me that before when I first came here, don't you remember?”

“Mikleo!” Sorey exclaimed. Surprise overtook his green eyes as he stared at his regalia in disbelief. “What are you saying at a time like this? Does it really matter? Everyone knows how devoted Kyme is to Gramps!”

“Sorey, be quiet. This is a discussion between regalias,” Mikleo retorted. His violet eyes bored into Kyme's frozen features, but still he did not relent. “Kyme, you _do_ know what you're asking Sorey, right? You and I both know that there are only two ways to remove blight from a regalia and to get them to restrain themselves. The first is purification, and the second is… to treat them as phantoms themselves.”

Sorey gulped, not wanting to think of the latter option, and Mikleo, sensing Sorey's hesitation, reached for his hand, squeezing it in comfort. He knew that Sorey didn't want to accomplish either option. Neither of them was appealing at all.

Kyme, too, looked strained as he smiled wryly. “Mikleo, thank you, but we don't have any other options. It's an endless spiral of worry and blight if we keep doing nothing. I'll bow my head. I'll beg. I'll do anything. Just… please, someone has to save our family.”

At the older spirit's response, Mikleo's stony gaze softened. He sighed and replied, “That's fine and all, but you're not going to participate in the purification ceremony, got it? Leave that to us.”

Kyme smiled gratefully towards the younger spirit.

“Kyme, let me speak with Gramps,” Sorey stated. He made for the direction of Gramps' house, and Kyme tried to warn him of the possibility of becoming infected with the Elder's blight. However, Sorey wasn't dissuaded in the least.

“He has me to set him right,” Mikleo assured Kyme. “If it's really as infectious as you say, then I'll make sure he bathes in sacred water every single day for the next two weeks.” With that, the silver haired teen chased after his lord. Once in stride with Sorey, he asked the brunet, “So what are you going to do?”

“I don't have much of a choice, do I?” Sorey responded with a grimace. “There's no option but finding the root of the problem and then going forth with the purification ceremony.”

Mikleo grasped Sorey's hand, squeezing the brunet's fingers, and stated, “You're a god. Whatever you do, it's always just.” Gods were never wrong; that was the way it has always been. Gods were to shelter their regalias, give them the most basic of necessities, and on top of that, they were to burden all of the emotions and sins their regalias bear.

On the other hand, a regalia was expected to serve his god and to exercise control—over his emotions and over his actions. The act of sinning, of even feeling negativity, would inflict impurities onto his god.

Sorey smiled at Mikleo. “Thanks,” he replied, returning Mikleo's grip. “Will you be able to perform the ceremony? You, Lailah, and Edna, I think, will probably work out just fine for the ceremony itself. If something goes wrong, Zaveid and I can deal with it.” Of spell-casting, Mikleo and the girls were the better three of the four, and although Sorey wasn't well-versed in knife fighting, he would still fare better than with a bow.

“Are you underestimating me?” Mikleo retorted.

Sorey looked genuinely taken back by the silver haired teen's response, the playful, teasing tone flying over his head, and spluttered out, “Of course not! Your spiritual powers are almost on par with Lailah's, and she's so much more experienced than you! I'm just worried about you! It's a taxing ceremony, isn't it?”

Mikleo rolled his eyes, smirking all the while, and once Sorey was certain that all was well between them, Sorey asked his lead regalia, “Can you gather the others? This is a pretty big case, after all. I'll go speak with Gramps by myself, so you make sure Lailah and them know what's going on.”

Mikleo held the taller boy's gaze and asked at length, “You'll be okay by yourself?”

“Of course I will,” Sorey assured the silver haired teen. “If anything happens, you'll take care of me, right?”

Mikleo rolled his eyes and huffed indignantly. “Well, _someone_ has to!” His exclamation faded into silence as they were left staring at each other. Mikleo shuffled awkwardly and shifted slightly at an angle. He glanced once more at Sorey, aware that—no matter how the brunet phrased it—his “request” was nothing more than a command from a god to his regalia. “I'll get going then,” Mikleo stated.

Sorey nodded in response and watched as Mikleo set off in the direction of the village entrance because he knew that Mikleo might just turn around to make sure he was safe. It wouldn't have been the first time. Mikleo had always made sure that Sorey was safe as both his childhood friend and his regalia. A part of Sorey warmed at the thought, his stomach tickling with gentle flutters, his chest filling and expanding with a comfortable weight, and another part of him wanted something a little more out of Mikleo.

However, as always, he suppressed that part of him into the back of his mind and left it untouched, undisturbed. To Mikleo, he was still that child god whom he needed to protect, who, at that time, needed a friend, being the youngest resident of Elysia and the youngest god of all the Celestial Realm.

Marching in the direction of Gramps' hut, Sorey announced his arrival at the entrance before stepping inside. The elder god laid on his mattress underneath a heavy quilt one of his regalias had sewn for him, and from where he stood, Sorey could see the dark tinge of the blight colouring the skin at the back of the elder's neck like a purple bruise, spreading like a rash. “It looks like it got really bad, Gramps,” Sorey muttered as he lowered himself onto the floor in front of the resting god.

“Where's Mikleo?” Gramps inquired.

“I sent him to fetch my other regalias,” Sorey answered. A sheepish smile stretched across his lips as he mused aloud, “He still thinks of me as a child god.”

“You _are_ a child,” Gramps reminded the young Shepherd. “You're the youngest god in the entire Celestial Realm, and he _did_ play a role in your upbringing. He feels some responsibility for how you turned out. You followed him everywhere, and then you dragged him everywhere. The two of you were virtually inseparable. I haven't seen a guidepost as loyal as Mikleo aside from the Goddess of Fortune's own. You must be proud of him.”

“I am,” Sorey agreed. “He's come a long way.”

“You both have,” Gramps replied. The nostalgia in his tone faltered, and he spoke more gravely this time. “Listen, Sorey. There is something out there powerful enough to overwhelm a regalia like Mason.”

Sorey paused and inquired, hesitantly, “Like a dragon?”

Gramps nodded gravely. “Since I am bedridden like this, I cannot stop it. I've not the slightest clue to its whereabouts now. If you ever encounter it, judge your own strength. It is not cowardly to run from a battle you cannot win.”

“I understand, Gramps,” Sorey answered. “I told Kyme I would help you in any way I can. I plan on performing the purification ceremony. I wanted to let you know beforehand since… well, you know.” Since a god receives all of his regalias' emotions, pains, sins, and suffering, Gramps would also be on the receiving end on of the purification. A god would receive a regalia's punishment, but a regalia would not receive his lord's punishment.

Gramps laughed in hoarse, rasping breaths. “Sorey!” he exclaimed. “Who do you think I am? I can handle something of this scale. I am more concerned about the creature bullying my cute children.”

“I'll take care of that, too, Gramps. I promise,” Sorey vowed.

“Don't bite off more than you can chew, Sorey,” Gramps warned. “I'm not going to kick the bucket any time soon, you fool! I still haven't seen you wedded off to a pretty bride—like Mikleo, for instance.”

Sorey's cheeks flushed red at the implications. “Gramps!” Really, none of the villagers of Elysia had let the prospect—moreover, some dare confirm it as a fact (even though it really was)—that Mikleo was Sorey's first and only love. Gramps was more merciless and relentless in his comments, however. It was as if he knew something about the two of them that Sorey himself didn't.

“Isn't he the perfect bride though?” Gramps continued ruthlessly. “He can cook. He can clean. He makes sure that _you_ are clean and that you've eaten. He has your best interests at heart, and he's both intelligent and beautiful—a perfect wife.”

“Stop changing the subject!” Sorey cried. Really, why did _Gramps_ have to tease him about this, too? It was too embarrassing! He was almost five hundred years old!

“Hurry up and help the children then, you fool!”

“Fine! But that means I'm still carrying out the purification ceremony!”

Gramps was silent, but then he made one request of the Shepherd. “Make sure the children do not see. I don't want this affecting them.”

Sorey could only nod in response.

* * *

“So you've heard about it from Kyme then?” Natalie inquired, avoiding all eye contact with Sorey. She seemed to make herself smaller, holding onto her arm, as her teal eyes watered at the thought of Mason. She immediately apologised for her actions and wiped a stray tear from her eye, tucking a strand of blue hair behind her ear. “I still can't believe that Mason… isn't with us any more.* Don't worry about me though,” Natalie told Sorey immediately. She smiled and said, “If I keep moping like this, Gramp would only get worse. I'll be fine.”

“I was under the impression that you two were…” Sorey faltered.

“We were close,” Natalie admitted. She smiled, her expression full of nostalgia and reminisce, as she mused, “I remember when he first began to court me; Mason fell flat on his face.”

Sorey grinned. “I was there,” he recalled. “Mikleo said that Ed and Shiron wouldn't stop teasing him about it for ages.”

Natalie laughed softly, almost weakly. “If Mason wasn't with me, he would be with the boys,” she stated. “They were close, the four of them, though not as close as you and Mikleo, but… the boys were like Cynthia, Melody, Loanna, and myself—good friends. I just can't imagine…” She choked on the tears she had been trying to suppress and quickly apologised. Sorey left it be.

“Do you think that they would know…” Sorey trailed off—hesitant.

“About what happened?” Natalie proposed. She shook her head. “Not in the slightest. They only know as much as I do, and I only know as much as what Kyme told you.”

Sorey rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling more sheepish, and replied, “Sorry for springing this on you, Natalie. It must have been hard.”

“Trying times are typical for humans,” Natalie replied. “I will be fine, but those children… I worry for them.” She glanced towards the crowd of children, who have seemed to be mostly pacified by Mikleo's attempts at storytelling. They were gathered in front of him, an audience held captive by a bewitching storyteller. “A few of them, as you know, have yet to conceive the mere concept of death whereas the rest of us have already come to terms with our fate.”

Sorey nodded in response and excused himself when he saw Zaveid waving him over. Approaching the taller man, who stood with Lailah and Edna, Sorey asked them, “What's up? Did you find anything?”

“Not a trace of him in the woods,” Zaveid replied. “We might have to stay the night and sniff out who's attracting the phantoms.”

Sorey hummed and then suggested, “We could stay at my old house then.”

“Whoa, there, Sheps!” Zaveid protested. “Don't worry about us. A giant temple is one thing, but a little hut with two rooms? I don't want to intrude on your little love nest with Mickey boy. I'll be with Kyme.”

Sorey's cheeks immediately flushed red. Right, his own regalias (with the exception of Mikleo) had picked up on the signals as well, and they would never let him live it down.

“Edna and I are staying with Melody and the other girls,” Lailah informed Sorey. “If you need anything, just pop on over.”

That was how Sorey found himself in the middle of his bedroom, glued to Mikleo's side, as the smaller boy flipped through the pages of yet another book. Mikleo's collection was steadily growing to rival the size of the Hyland Kingdom's own royal library. The silver haired teen had every single published edition of his favourites—from historical texts to novels either famous or obscure and even children's picture books—and Sorey never tried to stop him from buying more. Edna wished that he would stop though. She swore up and down that the floor of Artorius' Throne would cave if Mikleo continued expanding his personal library.

“You're making it awfully difficult to read,” Mikleo remarked.

Sorey hummed into Mikleo's neck, reading over the regalia's shoulder, and wrapped his arms around Mikleo's waist, removing them from their former position around his shoulders. “Better?”

Mikleo rolled his eyes and mumbled, “You're impossible.” Sorey still caught sight of the little smile painted onto his pink lips, however. “Just how old are you?”

“Almost five hundred,” Sorey answered. “I'm not a kid any more.”

Mikleo scoffed quietly. “That sounds like something a kid would say—though I admit you did get taller, stronger, and more intelligent.” He gasped when he felt Sorey roll him over, and he squirmed quietly as he was pinned underneath Sorey's stony gaze. It was a different expression than he was used to seeing. Sorey had always been smiles—sheepish smiles, friendly smiles, nervous smiles, sad smiles—that he wasn't well adjusted to Sorey's more serious expressions—much less when he was the object of scrutiny. “What?” Mikleo muttered, averting his eyes.

He tensed when he felt Sorey's fingers—rough and calloused from centuries of fighting off evil spirits—brush against his skin like a ghost. Mikleo trembled. Out of fear, our of apprehension, he didn't know. He laid, complacent, as Sorey angled his head so that they could stare into each other's eyes. Mikleo was swimming in cool jade pools, trying to escape, but found himself lost and captivated—to the point where he nearly missed Sorey's whispered, “So when won't I be a child any more, Mikleo?”

Mikleo shivered as Sorey's fingers travelled against his jaw, down his neck, across his shoulders, and—

He shrieked when Sorey began to tickle his sides. Sorey's expression was wiped away entirely, taken over by mirth and mischief, as Mikleo's wild laughter filled Sorey's old home. His book fell from his hands with a thud—something he would reprimand Sorey for later—as he clutched his sides, trying to defend himself from Sorey's attacks.

His face, flushed red, drained of colour when a terrified cry pierced the air. Sorey instantly pulled Mikleo onto his feet and, still clutching onto his hand, led him out of the house and through the forest. They were joined by Zaveid, Lailah, and Edna. None of the three other regalias tossed them a snide remark on their closeness for once.

“The villagers were told to remain in their homes for their own and the Elder's safety,” Zaveid explained. “Not all of them ate up my excuse, but they still listened. It looks like the kid ran off towards Mabinogio Ruins.”

“Kid?” Sorey repeated.

“Sure didn't sound like the scream of a man,” Edna replied.

As they neared the ruins, the cries became louder—dissolving into what Sorey recognised as whimpering and sobbing.

A child—little Margaret, Sorey realised, who had been most taken with Mikleo's tales that afternoon—was collapsed on the forest floor. The skin at her knee was broken, bleeding into the grass, as tears poured from her big brown eyes. Mikleo immediately approached her without hesitating even once, and he knelt down at her side, examining her knee. “Just a scratch,” he noted aloud. “It doesn't look like any dirt got into the wound. We'll need to disinfect it later.”

He held onto the little girl's shoulders and told her, “Margaret, we just need to check something, okay? Then we'll make you better, I promise.” He glanced at Lailah, who nodded in response, before replacing Mikleo at her side.

She excused herself politely before pulling down the fabric covering Margaret's arms--finding nothing there—and then examining her legs—also devoid of wounds—and then her back, gasping when she found a mass of eyes set upon purpled skin blinking back at her. Lailah retracted her hand, the fabric shifting back in place, and confirmed, “She's been blighted, but this is too much even for holy water to cleanse.”

Sorey closed his eyes, collecting his thoughts, before exhaling. He turned his eyes upon Margaret, soft and gentle and soothing, as he promised, “We'll save you.”

Mikleo, Lailah, and Edna immediately moved into position, forming a triangle around Margaret, chanting in unison,

“We shall now cleanse this spirit of the Wiseman, Zenrus the Elder, in order to preserve the name bestowed onto her. With her impurities wiped, she will become a sincere, principled, just soul—imprison!”

Three straight lines, blinding with white light, seared across the dirt ground, forming a triangular prison around the child. She wailed, and Sorey winced at her cries. He knelt in front of her, separated by the prison walls, and told her, “Margaret, listen to me. All you need to do is tell me what you did wrong and why you did it.”

“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!” she cried, pounding against the walls of light.

“I know it hurts,” Sorey replied, voice calming and soothing and doing his best to pacify her. It was a lost cause, he knew, but he still couldn't help himself. The purification ceremony was often called a beating, where the tortured soul was forced to repent and reveal its sins. “I know it hurts,” he repeated. “Love hurts a lot, you know? But this is Gramps' love for you. He cares for you, and it is hurting him, too. He wants to know why you're hurting.”

Margaret sobbed and wiped the tears spilling from her eyes. “I miss Mason!” she wailed. “Why did he have to go? Why won't he come back? He said he'd always help me when I fell down, but he didn't come this time! He didn't come when I was hurting! He said he would come back and play house together because all the boys didn't want to play house!”

“Mason is sleeping now,” Sorey continued in attempt to pacify her. “He is sleeping for a very long time now. We might see him again, but we might not see him again. We won't know for a long, long, _long_ time, but he won't rest well and get better if everyone's sad. Can you be happy for him? Because he's sleeping, he won't be able to have fun with you any more, so you'll have to have enough fun for the both of you. Tomorrow, we'll play house together, okay? You, me, Mikleo, Lailah, Edna, and Uncle Zaveid, too. So you should get some rest, Margaret.”

He glanced at Lailah, and she responded, “She's removed from any blight.”

With that, the three of them removed their boundaries, and Margaret collapsed into Sorey's arms. He brushed aside the hair covering her face and smiled. “You've worked hard, Margaret. Good job. I'll take you back home, okay?” She nodded limply, and Sorey lifted her onto his back.

He strolled past Mikleo, who crossed his arms and joined Sorey's side. “I refuse to be the mother,” he remarked. “Every time you drag me off to play house, I'm always the mother.”

He never quite understood why he was made the maternal figure, but because of it, he was always teased by the other Elysians. It wasn't even his idea! Sorey just never wanted the younger children to feel abandoned when the older ones wanted to learn how to hunt prickleboars from Ed. He was too kind of a shepherd—to the point where he simply allowed the children to pick their roles. Sorey didn't even blink an eye when he was made to be the pet pony one time.

“You can be the dog this time then, Meebo,” Edna replied.

Mikleo spluttered. “W-Who's the _dog_?” he snapped, cheeks reddening.

“Now, now!” Lailah chimed, clapping her hands together before a fight broke out between the two younger regalias. “I'm sure the children love Mama Mikleo because he does a wonderful job of looking after Sorey!”

The flush on his cheeks only darkened, and he averted his gaze from the others, trekking slowly behind Sorey. “I'm not sure about that,” he muttered. The memory from earlier that night returned to the fore of his thoughts no matter how much he tried to suppress it.

Seriously, what was _that_ all about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The conversation with Natalie is paraphrased from in-game dialogue.  
> I do think that Natalie, a water seraph, was close with Mason in canon. When you return to Elysia and speak with her, most of the time, she mourns about Mason's death, and she does so a lot more than the other villagers.
> 
>  _Noragami_ Notes:  
>  [1] After a pact is formed between a god and a regalia, the name the god gives the regalia appears on their body. In _Noragami_ , many of the names are written in more archaic _kanji_ or the _on-yomi_ (Chinese) reading, so for this AU, I figured the ancient tongue would be a suitable parallel.  
>  [2] When a regalia bows to another god, it is disrespectful to the god the regalia is currently serving. I suppose that it is because a regalia must only have one master, ethically speaking.  
> [3] Purification is a ceremony that is used to cleansed a blighted regalia. It affects both the imprisoned regalia and the god to whom the regalia belongs because of their connection. The process literally beats the truth out of the sinner, and if one of the regalias performing the ceremony falters, then the barrier would fall. The regalia-turned-phantom could then potentially attack anyone present. Another risk would be the amount of time needed to perform the ceremony. It could take hours, but the participants must remain in their positions for as long as it would last.


	5. The Flow of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a typical day for the Shepherd. He stays in Elysia for a bit longer, plays with children, and answers prayers. This time, Sorey is needed in Marlind. It turns out that this isn't the typical prayer for protection from evil spirits after all.
> 
> Of course, that doesn't really dissuade Sorey from helping.

“Hasn't Sorey been acting a little… _weirdly_ , recently?” Mikleo asked Lailah.

The two of them watched the children race circles around the brunet in some rendition of hide and seek. At one point, Sorey had managed to find all the children, but they were adamant on making sure that the Shepherd couldn't actually catch them. Mikleo couldn't help but admire their brashness—or ignorance. He wasn't quite sure how to define their bold actions. Even the other gods held Sorey in high respects though it was often times difficult to tell. While the rest of the high heavens placed too many expectations on Sorey's shoulders, they still wouldn't dare to make him run in literal circles.

“Really?” Lailah responded. Her voice was pitched a little too high, and Mikleo couldn't quite determine whether she was amused or surprised. “Isn't he the same as ever?”

Mikleo glanced back at his old friend and sighed. “I don't know about that,” he replied quietly. He didn't know if Lailah heard his comment either, but if she did, then she said nothing in response. While upholding the affable silence between them, Mikleo couldn't help but imagine Mason chasing after the children together with Sorey. The redhead had always been an older brother figure to both him and Sorey as well as the younger children.

It seemed quieter without him, and it was unpleasant.

There was a feeling stuck in his throat, but Mikleo couldn't quite get it out. In the end, he swallowed that feeling before it could swell and fester.

What could have targeted Mason? Mason had taught Mikleo everything he knew and guided him onto the path of becoming an exemplar for newly born regalias. Mason was not in any way a weakling. Last night, Sorey had only whispered into Mikleo's ear, “Gramps thinks that it might have been a dragon.” Mikleo didn't want to believe it, but he did. Sorey never lied, and Gramps would have no reason to lie to Sorey while in his sickbed.

It made sense now that Mikleo had given it some thought. A dragon could rise into the skies, ascend to the Celestial Realm using only brute strength, and it could certainly destroy other regalias. It would take an entire army of regalias and gods with combat experience to restrain a dragon, but that would limit their numbers to the Shepherd and a number of both lesser and greater war gods.

While Sorey would be more than willing to help, war gods hardly ever offered their assistance unless they profited from the matter. Sorey, the fool, would probably choose to fight it once he has built up his strength. Mikleo shuddered at the prospect of such a terrifying beast loose in this world.

It didn't help that the previous Shepherd had sacrificed himself to slay a dragon, to slay Eizen.

Mikleo broke out of his thoughts once he heard the children squealed and giggled. They desperately escaped Sorey's clutches, slipping past his hands, as he tried to tag one of them. Zaveid was approaching them, chatting with Kyme, with Edna a few paces behind them.

All of a sudden, the children broke into a run straight for him, and Mikleo nearly toppled over at the abrupt barrage of weight at his front. Lailah smiled warmly at him while Sorey merely grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. On the other hand, Edna and Zaveid wore matching smirks, no doubt laughing at his expense, and Kyme was only smiling at the children's uplifted spirits. Among them was Margaret, whom Gramps had scolded quietly last night after his recovery. (“We're family,” he had said. “You can tell us anything.”)

“You can't tag us now!” a boy exclaimed, clinging so tightly onto Mikleo's leg that he thought his blood circulation would be cut off. “We made it to home base! You can't tag anyone who made it to base!”

“Since when was I made to be 'home base'?” Mikleo questioned, raising an eyebrow, as he stared pointedly at Sorey.

“Since just now!” chirped another girl.

“Since when was this a rule?” Sorey inquired, genuinely confused.

“Since just now!” replied the girl. “Everyone said that Mama should be base!”

“We're still playing house?” Mikleo asked, just as bewildered as Sorey.

“Yes, Mama-leo,” Edna teased, “is indeed quite base.”

Mikleo narrowed his eyes at her. Before he could even protest, Lailah asked Kyme, “So how is Lord Zenrus faring?”

“He's doing well,” Kyme assured. Out of the corner of his eye, Mikleo could see Sorey's shoulders slump in relief, and a smile tugged at his lips even as he was peeling children off his frame. “We can't thank you enough for what you've done, Sorey.”

Sorey chuckled nervously. Even after two centuries, he still wasn't used to accepting prayers and thanks from other people. “It's just part of the job,” Sorey replied. “Anyone would have done it.”

“I don't know about that,” Kyme responded.

“That's right,” Mikleo remarked, elbowing Sorey lightly. “It's just because you're you, Sorey. Most regalias are hesitant to perform a purification ceremony in the first place.” On top of the risks, where in the worst case scenario the imprisoned regalia becomes a phantom that would attack all who was present, there was also the prospect of having to remain in position for hours. It was a test of endurance. Should a regalia falter and sympathise with the imprisoned, disastrous results were likely to unfold. “We just follow you.”

Worry furrowed Sorey's brow, and he immediately blurted out, “Sorry! Did I make you guys do something you didn't want to?”

“Idiot!” Mikleo quipped, poking him in the ribs and making him jump, with a teasing smirk. “If we didn't want to follow your every whim, we would have left you a long time ago. Besides, we all knew what the other option was, and that's definitely something nobody wants.” He smiled assuringly at the brunet and said, “We're in this together.” Behind him, Lailah nodded in agreement. Zaveid gave Sorey a thumbs-up, and Edna merely harrumphed with a smug grin on her lips.

Kyme smiled at the two of them—a young god and his guidepost—and said, “If you want to see Gramps, you're welcome to do so. He's definitely feeling more lively now. He kicked up a fuss about all of us treating him like a senile old man.”

Sorey and Mikleo exchanged glances, and before long, Sorey was already pulling Mikleo along by the hand. For the second time that day, Mikleo nearly tripped over his feet by the sheer force. Kyme chuckled at the sight. Melody, who had been watching them from the distance, strolled up to Kyme with a grin on her face. “What was that all about?” she chirped. “They haven't changed at all. Sorey was always dragging Mikleo along like that.”

Kyme watched until their backs disappeared up the hill. “I wouldn't say that,” he responded. “Sorey's grown up, hasn't he?”

“It might be because he's the Shepherd now,” Melody replied. She paused and added, “Well, I guess he's always been the Shepherd, but he's growing into his role. Meanwhile, Mikleo… really hasn't changed at all.*”

“To be fair,” Kyme commented, “none of us have changed. We can't change.”

 _We're dead_.

Melody sobered immediately after that. She merely nodded her head quietly. “I wonder how that would affect both of them later on then. Sorey's only bound to get stronger since he's the Shepherd. The strength of a god comes from the faith of his followers, and the Shepherd would always have a good lot of people praying to him. Mikleo has to keep up with that, and if he can't do it, then…”

“Isn't it fine?” Lailah mused from beside them. “Mikleo is Sorey's guidepost, steadfast and unwavering. Moreover, Mikleo is his very first regalia, so he reminds Sorey even more of the ideals he wants to pursue from the time he was but a child god.” She clasped her hands together and smiled. “I think they can withstand the test of time.”

“It would certainly be strange to see Sorey without Mikleo,” Zaveid agreed.

“Well, only time will tell,” Edna commented humourlessly.

* * *

Recently, Mikleo has always felt Sorey's gaze on him.

It was strange—to be so aware of something.

He wondered if Sorey ever felt this way whenever Mikleo was making sure he was safe and sound, that nothing affected him too badly, that phantoms didn't harm him too badly. The attention was smothering, to say the least, and… flustering. Mikleo could barely meet Sorey's eyes after catching him in the act.

The first time had been when Mikleo visited that pond in Camlann shortly after tending to Gramps since the incident with Margaret. He had slipped off his shoes and rolled his pants all the way up to his knees in order to soak his feet in the sacred waters, pausing only when he felt Sorey's eyes burning into the back of his head. He had glanced over his shoulder then, about to ask Sorey what was wrong, until he was caught off-guard by jade green eyesthat were just as calm and collected as Sorey normally was when he was studying something—usually ancient text of some sort—but it was… it felt _off_.

It was… _different_ to be subjected to that stare, and Mikleo wasn't sure if his heart skipping a beat was a good thing at all. He had turned away, flushing, and muttered, “What?” It was a pathetic sound, really, like he was sulking and moping, but Mikleo couldn't even dare face Sorey, couldn't look into those eyes, without feeling bothered.

He wondered when Sorey had began looking at him like that. How come he had never noticed? He couldn't return that look. He couldn't meet it. He didn't know how. Sorey never wore an expression like that when he was younger. This was something new—something different—and Mikleo couldn't comprehend how he had never noticedbefore.

“Nothing,” Sorey had eventually answered back then. His words weren't suspiciously hurried or rushed, and he had managed to keep his gaze steady. There were no obvious tell-tale signs of fibbing—as Sorey's always been a bad liar—but Mikleo had known then that it wasn't the complete answer. When he gave Sorey a wry glance, the taller boy had only laughed—not nervously, like Mikleo had expected, but amusedly. “I was just thinking,” Sorey had explained.

“About?” Mikleo had inquired.

There was a strange spark of mirth in Sorey's jade eyes then. It wasn't like the times when Sorey would randomly launch an attack against him—targeting his sides—or the times when Sorey wanted, above all else, to explore his new surroundings—ruins or city or town or even the dungeon underneath their home. It was also very… different.

“That's a secret,” Sorey had responded.

Sorey had never kept a secret from him before. Ever since they had first met, Sorey had told him everything—from little passages he found interesting in the Celestial Record to the frustration he felt after being scolded by Gramps to discoveries on their journey in the living realm. A breath hitched in Mikleo's throat at the thought of Sorey being unable to confide in him, tensing his body for just a moment, and Mikleo quickly recomposed himself. Those thoughts and emotions were dangerous; they could potentially harm and blight Sorey.

No matter what, Mikleo was still Sorey's regalia. Mikleo would still protect the god—even if it was from Mikleo's own self.

After that episode, Mikleo found himself returning Sorey's gazes since, evidently, there were little strange perks of the brunet that he had never known before. Even though they had been together for nearly three hundred years, Sorey was constantly surprising him despite how predictable he could most certainly be. Mikleo wasn't _uncomfortable_ with the changes though; he was growing comfortable with them. Sorey was still Sorey. That would never change.

Sorey's skin has always been darker than his own since, Mikleo was sure, he was a child kissed by the sun, always outside for hours and hours of play and exploration. Mikleo remembered the scare they had given the villagers of Elysia when the young Shepherd had ventured too deeply into the ruins, carried away entirely by his curiosity. Really, it was Mikleo's fault for not having turned them back towards the exit when he had the chance. Although he was more mature than Sorey, the regalia had been strung along by the boy, and before long, they had made the Mabinogio Ruins into their own playground.

Now Sorey's skin was even darker from hours of work, not just play and exploration. Like the rest of him, his hands have grown larger than Mikleo's more delicate, porcelain hands. His palms and fingertips were calloused all over from fighting, from climbing, from falling, from manual labour, from writing notes in the margins of his copy of the Celestial Record.

His shoulders have broadened, becoming a little bit more squared, and his chest was firmer, chiselled even. He had matured—as he should have, being a god upon whom so many depend—and Mikleo was proud of him… even if he was a little lonely that the child he had known long ago was gone. Sorey had grown handsomely, but Mikleo would never admit it aloud. The last thing they needed was for Sorey to be overflowing with confidence; even gods were not invincible.

Still, Sorey never failed to answer a prayer.

There was a desperate prayer from the world below, pleading and begging Sorey for his aide. Princess Alisha Diphda, one of the princesses of the Hyland Kingdom, a budding young lady knight, had been sent to Marlind, a scholarly city that had come down with a plague. They were running low on supplies, and there were never enough staff available. Guards, researchers, doctors, and nurses alike have come down with the sickness after tending to patients.

Morale was faltering. Death rates were increasing. Children barely lived beyond their tenth year. Families were torn apart. Neighbours closed their doors. Cemeteries were filled up to the point where they had to dump bodies into one grave—or, rather, pit—or cremate them entirely.

Marlind was losing her colour. The leaves from the Great Tree were dying. Ash and soot rained down onto the town, and the stench of death permeated the air along.

Princess Alisha Diphda was at her wit's end, and her last resort was to turn to the benevolent god and guardian, the Shepherd. She prayed to him to protect the town, to save the people, to bless them with good health, and Sorey descended from the Celestial Realm in front of the city walls, cringing at the intensity of the negativity and malevolence leaking from the gate.

“Oh my,” Lailah murmured, covering her nose and mouth with the long sleeve of her dress. Her green eyes stared up at the intimidating walls, and she inquired, “What has happened here?”

“Most of it is phantoms feeding off the negativity of the mourning,” Mikleo remarked.

“The catalyst is probably the disease itself,” Edna commented.

“But, you know,” Zaveid mused aloud, “this can't be any regular disease, can it?”

“Well, it _is_ a plague,” Edna retorted. “Plagues do tend to wipe out towns and villages.”

Sorey coughed into his hand, drawing attention back to him, and grinned nervously as he scratched the back of his neck. “Well, Zaveid has a point, you know,” the brunet stated. “It's not just any virus or bacterial infection. I think the actual illness quelled over for the most part, but there's so much negativity for the phantoms to feed on that it started affecting the people physically. It seems like everyone's acting so strange, you know? Phantoms have that kind of influence over humans.”

Mikleo hummed, contemplating over Sorey's theory, before replying, “That's plausible. Where do we start then?”

Sorey paused, scratching his cheek, as he considered a course of action. “Well,” he answered, “we can start by taking care of the little phantoms. If we lessen them, then maybe the townspeople can improve their condition.”

“We'll need to search for the source though,” Mikleo reminded. “There's no point in cleaning up if they're only going to keep causing a mess. Should we search for clues?”

“Let's split up then,” Zaveid suggested. “We can at least take on the puny ones by ourselves using just boundaries and spells.”

“Then Lailah, Edna, and Zaveid will group up, and Mikleo and I will work together,” Sorey suggested.

“No,” Mikleo protested, crossing his arms, as he glowered at the brunet. “I can't even begin to tell you how bad of an idea that is. We are not loosing a bunch of arrows in this town with your aim. It's better to go with close combat here. Take Lailah with you—or Lailah and Zaveid.”

“I agree,” Lailah spoke up. “There's only so much Mikleo can do to help you improve your aim, Sorey. We shouldn't risk it in such close quarters.”

Edna nodded, though a smirk danced on her lips, and said, “What a shame you can't be with your crush alone, Sorey.”

Sorey flushed red and spluttered out a nonsensical response. Mikleo rolled his eyes. Even after three hundred years, Sorey couldn't get over that teasing remark. He crossed his arms, and Zaveid soon draped an arm around his shoulders. Mikleo shrugged it off, and if Zaveid was affronted by his actions, the older regalia didn't show it in his expression.

“All right,” Zaveid stated, “Edna, Mickey boy, and I will be in one group. It's better if we have the advantage in numbers, and if there's three of us, we can form a prison to purify the phantoms. Lailah and Sheps will be able to hold their own, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sorey agreed. All traces of reluctance slipped away from his expression as he thought about his own duties and responsibilities. Mikleo had a point that he couldn't refute—again. “We'll meet in front of the inn after scoping out the city. Lailah and I will take the north entrance, so you guys can enter through the south.”

With that said and done, Mikleo watched as Sorey and Lailah ventured further ahead, only breaking out of his quiet observations when Edna jabbed him in the side with her umbrella. Mikleo instinctively leapt away from her umbrella and glowered at her when she continued to harass him with it, pushing him toward the gate. “Come on, lover boy,” she droned.

“Who?” Mikleo responded. Bewilderment laced his single word inquiry, and he was sure that it showed on his face because Edna gave him a strange look in response.

Finally, she broke off the staring contest and rolled her eyes. Pivoting on the heel of one of her boots, the blonde popped open her umbrella and rested against her small, slender shoulder. “Don't worry about it, poor, oblivious Meebo. It's nothing,” she responded dryly. She muttered something below her breath that Mikleo couldn't quite decipher, but before he could touch on it, Zaveid was already dragging them through the gate.

Just as they made it past the entrance, a dog was blocking the front of the wooden bridge, barking at them, and instinctively, Mikleo leapt behind Edna's umbrella. Once again, she rolled her eyes at him. “Afraid of a little puppy, Meebo?” she teased.

“I-I am not!” he protested.

Mikleo was simply unused, even after three hundred years, to being the object of their attention. Dogs would always stare him down and then bark at him (though they did this with other spirits and non-spirits as well). Dogs were quite perceptive creatures, after all, and sometimes they were excellent judges of character. Phantoms were easily weeded out because of a dog's aggressive growling and snarling, and after bearing witness to a weak phantom getting mauled between a dog's sharp incisors, Mikleo did not take lightly to the potential of being bitten.

Zaveid narrowed his eyes and pushed Edna back a few steps by his arm. “Something's wrong with this dog,” he stated. “Get into position. Mikleo, take the left; Edna, take the right. I'll get behind it. We'll cast a boundary and then purify it.” Mikleo and Edna nodded in response, and just as the dog bore its canines, snapping and growling at them, barking loud enough to cause a storm, Its white, spotted coat grew black with the malice it bore, eyes and more eyes and more eyes peeking from between patches of fur on its back, and its brown eyes bled red. Zaveid leapt over it and landed on the other side of the bridge. “Now!” Zaveid snapped.

Mikleo didn't need to be told. He had already pressed his fore and middle fingers of his right hand together, drawing a white line that burned onto the ground between him and the phantom with just a strike of his hand across the air. His barrier connected together with Edna and Zaveid's boundaries, forming a triangular cage of white light. “Imprison!” he exclaimed, together with the other two regalias.

The phantom howled, and it lashed against the prison walls, ramming its entire weight against the blinding white light, in an attempt to escape. When it couldn't shatter the walls, it bounded skyward, but it only collapsed to the ground, exhausted, upon discovering that the cage extended infinitely. Again it howled, this time not from rage, and furrowed itself into a ball on the ground. The darkness was stripped from its coat, peeling like an outer layer, and the eyeballs was plucked from its body, dissolving into white particles, until only the body of a dog remained.

They broke down the prison walls, and Zaveid approached it. Taking it into his arms, he laid it upon the grass at the bridge side and began to dug a hole in the ground with his bare hands. Mikleo, casting a sympathetic glance towards the dog, joined him. Edna began to roam the area, returning with a few large stones, just as Zaveid laid the dog into its grave. They covered him with daisies and set down his tombstone, and for a moment, nobody said anything.

“Looks like Sheps was right,” Zaveid stated aloud. “This negativity is enough to kill.”

Mikleo glanced at his hands, streaked with dirt and grime, before replying, “We should get moving. There's more.” He lifted his head and stared into the dark miasma surrounding the town. Staring back at him was a collection of blinking red eyes and malicious grins.

* * *

Sorey balanced the familiar weight of Fethmus Mioma in his hand after another phantom had charged at them, nearly dislodging the sword from his hand. “Lailah, you okay?” Sorey inquired his blade. Fighting with a single sword was somewhat familiar, and Sorey was slightly disoriented after having dual-wielded with a short sword and a long sword for so long. It had taken him even longer to adjust to having two blades in the first place, however, and now Zaveid was just as integrated in the team as the others.

“I'm perfectly fine, Sorey!” Lailah replied, her voice resonating within the blade's metal and echoing within his own mind. “Let us proceed forward!”

Sorey nodded, and just as he took a step forward, a beam of light rocketed into the sky from the southern end of Marlind.

_Mikleo!_

Heart leaping in his chest, Sorey broke into a dash towards the southern quarters, his surroundings nothing but a blur, as the wind whipped against his face like a force pushing him back. He barrelled forward, relentlessly, and nearly tripped over a tree root.

 _Mikleo, Mikleo, Mikleo!_ _I'm sorry! I won't ever let you feel that pain again! Please be okay, Mikleo! I promised I would protect you! Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay_.

Lailah's voice protested, “Sorey! You mustn't!”

“No prison has ever had to be that tall before!” Sorey argued. “Lailah, I have to make sure he's all right!” He couldn't swallow a single breath as he thought of dying villagers, crying villagers, burning villagers, mourning villagers, faceless soldiers, a desperate uncle and chieftain, a pleading mother, and a beautiful sacrifice blooming red rose petals from his heart.

“Sorey, they will be fine!” Lailah cried. Sorey's feet slowed though he'd yet to cross the distance separating him from his dear friend and beloved. “Mikleo will be fine,” she reiterated, quieter, softer, gentler, a matronly figure among their comrades. “These phantoms are not that powerful,” she continued, once she was certain that Sorey had calmed down, “but they are quite active. It is natural for them to attempt to break out of a prison, but with their abilities conjoined, it is very much impossible for it to shatter. Mikleo is strong and has much potential; I believe you know that.”

Sorey clenched his jaw, tightening his hold around Fethmus Mioma's hilt, as he attempted to bring himself back on track. Of course he knew that. Sorey had known all along that Mikleo was strong. He had spent three hundred years with him, and the silvery blue haired spirit had his fair share of wins against Sorey in sparring. Mikleo was stubborn and headstrong, and he always had Sorey's back. Mikleo trusted him, and Sorey trusted Mikleo as well. He really did trust Mikleo.

But he was afraid.

“He has Edna and Zaveid with him,” Lailah stated. “They will be fine. If something had happened to them, then you would have felt it through the link between a god and his regalia.”

She wasn't wrong, and Sorey knew that. If anything had taken a turn for the worse, then he would have felt Mikleo's pain or fear. In the worst case scenario, he would have felt someone sever the link between them. Nothing happened though, which meant everything should be fine, and Sorey had to remind himself that Mikleo could handle it on his own.

“All right, I get it,” Sorey muttered. “We'll continue with our search.”

He glanced over his shoulder, and the beam of light had already vanished. Marching in the direction of the sanctuary, Sorey spotted the little church house in dedication to the Wiseman. “Right,” he thought aloud, “their patron god is Gramps.” However, even though it was a church, there was no trace of purity; everything was poisoned by the phantoms.

Spotting a young woman with blonde hair pulled into a curled side ponytail, Sorey said, “Lailah, revert.” The sword in his hand glowed with a blinding light, replaced by his long time companion, though they went unnoticed by the sickly humans resting on the pews and benches. Quietly, he approached the young Valkyrie, who had taken the place of the nurses who had fallen ill in tending to the patients, and tapped her on the shoulder.

Alisha Diphda practically jumped out of her boots before she swivelled around to face Sorey. Blinking, she asked him hesitantly, “Might I help you with something, sir?”

He glanced down on the phantoms leeching off their hosts like parasites. “No, I think I should help you,” he replied as he took the pile of blankets from her hands. “I just have to give these to everyone, right?”

She smiled at him, relieved, and nodded. “Thank you so much, good sir!”

“It's fine,” Sorey assured her. “The Shepherd has surely received your prayers, Alisha!” With that, he left her, surely baffled, among the volunteers as he swept around the room, Lailah close behind him, purifying the phantoms that fed on the darkness in human hearts. Afterwards, they exited the church, and Sorey sighed. “Even though that was a sanctuary, I couldn't feel any barrier against the evil spirits. I guess it was because they invited them inside unknowingly,” he thought aloud.

Lailah nodded grimly before glancing towards the sky. She gasped, hands daintily covering her open mouth, before she exclaimed, “Sorey! Look!”

Sorey followed her gaze and tensed when he saw a reptilian figure soaring amidst the grey clouds with bat-like wings stretching across the dark skies. “A dragon?” he muttered, heart pounding in his chest, thumping in apprehension, as he recalled what Gramps had told him.

He promised Mikleo he wouldn't die.

Not this time.

He was stronger now, wasn't he?

He could fight a dragon, couldn't he?

“It still looks fairly young,” Lailah informed him quietly. “It might just be a drake rather than an adult dragon.”

Sorey released the breath he hadn't realised he had been holding in a shaky, trembling exhale. “Which means we're stunting its growth right now,” he muttered. Dragons were regalia who had been blighted entirely, the most difficult of phantoms to quell. Most times, their purification ended up in death—for either the god or the dragon, sometimes even both. Rarely ever was a life spared. He hoped this was the one dragon Gramps was talking about; it was already plenty large for a drake. Dragons were uncommon, after all. He hadn't expected one to appear so soon in his expedition. “We'll have to deal with it if we want to alleviate the negativity in Marlind.”

Lailah nodded gravely and suggested, “Let us rendezvous with the others.”

They wasted no time in their trek to the inn. There, Zaveid was already flirting with the receptionist rather than booking them two rooms. Upon noticing the other half of their party, Edna jabbed Zaveid in the side with the point of her umbrella, making him start with a yelp, and told him to hurry it up. However, Sorey's attention was focused entirely on Mikleo, who sat at the bar counter, tracing his fingertip against the rim of his cocktail glass, filled with gin and vermouth, garnished with an olive. Sorey's heart pounded against his chest and nearly leapt to his throat. A smile stretched across his lips as he jogged towards Mikleo to occupy the seat next to him.

“Anything for you, sir?” the bartender asked.

“I'm fine,” Sorey replied. He glanced at Mikleo, who hadn't quite made a sign that he had noticed Sorey's arrival. “What's wrong? It's not like you to drink on the job.”

“I didn't buy it,” Mikleo responded in a clipped tone. “Someone ordered it for me by the time I sat down. I don't know who. I haven't even touched it.”

Sorey frowned. Every time they descended to the mortal realm, there would always be people offering to buy Mikleo a drink or two—sometimes even a meal. In fact, there were people who've paid for his meals—and if they were gracious enough, the entire party's meals—after they've ordered. Although this was frequent (why wouldn't it be? Mikleo has always possessed an unearthly beauty, Sorey mused to himself), it always soured Mikleo's mood. Whenever Mikleo was displeased, Sorey, too, couldn't help but empathise.

“I'm not a woman to impress,” he had complained once. He never complained when Lailah got the same treatment (since Lailah would merely chime “Oh, what a kind gentleman!” and accept his generosity), but Mikleo usually found it taxing, if not a bit vexing, whenever he was on the receiving end.

“Of course not, Lady Meebo,” Edna had quipped, “but do these gentlemen care? They only want to spoil you, pet, since you look so pitiable and feeble.”

Mikleo had only scowled in response.

Still, even if Mikleo's mood was sour, he was still energetic enough to make several scathing remarks. “That's not what's bothering you,” Sorey commented.

“Aren't we perceptive today?” Mikleo teased lightly, slowly regaining his usual composure, as he glanced at Sorey out of the corner of his eye.

“What's wrong?” Sorey asked immediately, disregarding the silver haired regalia's jab. “It's not like we need to hold back on what to say.”

“Right,” Mikleo responded, voice flat and unimpressed, “we're not like that, are we?”

Sorey could feel the heat pooling in his cheeks. Ah, right, his “secret.” It wasn't so much of a secret though. Despite how he had never told anyone about his feelings towards Mikleo and his feelings for Mikleo, it had seemed like most everyone had already deciphered them… everyone but Mikleo, of course. Still, he liked things this way. He simply liked being with Mikleo, and he didn't want to put up a wall between them through a possible confession.

He supposed he'd already done so by merely mentioning that he had a secret even though Sorey told Mikleo _everything_. He had always been a terrible liar.

“Sorry,” Sorey apologised. “It was really nothing though.”

“'Nothing,' huh?” Mikleo repeated, scepticism clear in his tone.

“You're derailing the conversation,” Sorey remarked, trying to guide them back to the original topic at hand. “What's eating you?”

Mikleo paused, contemplating once again, before replying at length, “I was just thinking.”

Now Sorey was positive that Mikleo was still a little edgy about his “secret.” Before Sorey could press him for more, Zaveid swung by with the key to their room. “Edna and Lailah are in the one across from us,” he informed shortly. “None of that lovey-dovey nonsense you've got going on tonight, Sheps, Mickey boy.”

Mikleo's cheeks reddened as he snatched the key from Zaveid's hand. “What nonsense are you spouting now?” he hissed. Zaveid only cackled as he sauntered away. Mikleo sighed. “Three hundred years, and you would think people would tire of teasing us about our relationship.”

“O-Our relationship?” Sorey repeated.

Mikleo huffed. “We're close,” he replied. “I know you better than I know the back of my hand, but I would think that it's nothing to tease about.”

Sorey deflated. “Right, we're just friends… Nothing unusual.” Except one friend usually doesn't pine after the other friend. Still, he wasn't about to tell Mikleo that. The other boy was finally starting to look at him as an equal, not a child god he had to care for. He glanced at Mikleo and found that he wasn't quite sullen any more. “Are you okay?”

Mikleo smiled back at Sorey. “Why wouldn't I be? You're here, aren't you? I'm fine.”

“But earlier…” Sorey faltered.

“Ah,” Mikleo mused. “That. I'll tell you later.”

“Promise?”

“If I remember,” the other boy teased.

Sorey pouted, and Mikleo chuckled softly.

Some things just never change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * more paraphrased in-game dialogue
> 
> I actually really loved the Sorey and Mikleo skit where they talk about nothing.
> 
> On another note, in a world where Mikleo can be seen, I fancy that people would try to buy him drinks ~~even if he doesn't really drink~~ or, less frequently, pay for his meals. Then I see him getting annoyed by that ~~because he's a total tsun~~ , and when Mikleo is annoyed, Sorey worries.


	6. I Give Myself to You

“There's a baby dragon floating around town then,” Zaveid mused aloud as he reclined on his bed, his head nested in his arms. He groaned as his joints popped, relaxing his back after a long day's hard work. He angled his head slightly to meet Sorey's eye and asked, “So what are you going to do, Sheps?”

“We have to take care of it, of course,” Sorey answered in a voice that spoke measures of his determination. Mikleo knew that, when Sorey got like this, that the brunet couldn't be dissuaded from his decision. The young god, once resolved, was more than sure that he was making the right choice. The only way to go about it was to support him when it got too rough, so Mikleo leaned against a wall, crossed his arms, and observed the reactions of the other party members.

Just as Mikleo had expected, Lailah was quick to worry. “Sorey, are you sure?” she asked. Her brows were furrowed, and her eyes looked about ready to burst into tears—not from fear, but from concern. Mikleo knew only because Sorey hadn't reacted as if he was stung. Moreover, everyone knew that Lailah would never sting Sorey.

Lailah the Pure—Fethmus Mioma—was the oldest regalia among the four of them. Because she was passed down from Shepherd to Shepherd in each and every reincarnation, she was there when the previous Sorey had sacrificed himself and the one before him and the one before him and the one before him. Without a doubt, Mikleo was certain that she did not want to bear witness to the same tragedy ever again. Mikleo probably knew that better than anyone else here; after all, she had entrusted him with her vision of the future shortly after their first meeting.

Now here she was, about to face a disturbingly similar scenario to the one she experienced nearly five hundred years ago.

“I'm sure,” Sorey replied with a nod. “I can't just abandon this town. It's not right. I've already received Alisha's prayer. I'm a god, so I have the power to do something. At any rate, we won't know how it goes until we try.”

Lailah was silent, staring up at her lord, before nodding solemnly. “I understand,” she responded.

“You can't save everyone,” Edna reminded from her seat on the couch. Her tone was neither mocking nor reproachful. Her voice was soft, and she spoke in an almost detached manner. Mikleo could hear the note of melancholy that latched onto her words despite the indifferent façade she wore. Edna was likely remembering her brother, a former regalia who had blighted horribly, who had become tainted and made impure, who had lost all of his senses and became a dragon that roamed the mountains… the same dragon Sorey had attempted to purify five centuries ago.

Eizen was brought salvation through his death.

That was what Edna and Zaveid had said when they first met anyway.

“I can try,” Sorey replied to Edna's earlier remark, “and save as many as I can.”

Mikleo pushed himself off the wall and elbowed Sorey. “We'll have to get the drake down from the sky first,” he stated. “We should go scout for the highest point in town and drop it into an open area. Then we can fight it.”

Sorey brightened. “Mikleo!”

“Just leave the aiming to me,” he remarked. “You never did improve your technique, did you?”

Sorey laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. Archery never did come naturally to him. Really, nobody ever considered teaching him how to _properly_ shoot a bow and arrow when the Shepherd's lead regalia was a _bow_. Mikleo could have never taught Sorey archery by himself either because _he was the bow_ , and, unfortunately, he was the only one in their party who knew the art of archery. Mikleo rolled his eyes at the young god's reaction.

Zaveid yawned before sitting upright. “I guess we'll set out tonight.” He lumbered towards the door and turned his head slightly, grinning devilishly, and asked, “Well? Don't we have a town to save, a drake to kill? Time's a-ticking!”

Sorey grinned brightly in response and bounded towards the door. Just as usual, Mikleo followed after him, and Lailah and Edna rose from their seats, rounding up the rear.

Sorey greeted the innkeeper in passing as they approached the front door, and just as he was about to open the door, someone pulled it open from the outside. Green eyes met with another pair of green eyes, both wide in shock, but the blonde haired girl was quick to recover. “You!” she exclaimed, shock overwhelming her features. Immediately, she lowered her voice and dragged Sorey out of the inn, careful not to attract too much attention, judging by the shame that crossed her cheeks upon earning a couple of bewildered stares from the other patrons.

Mikleo reached out for Sorey's elbow, but the girl was quicker. The coarse fabric of Sorey's brown traveller's cloak grazed his fingertips. Before he could call out to his friend, Zaveid placed a hand on Mikleo's shoulder, distracting him, and said, “There are some things you shouldn't prevent in life, Mickey boy. Jealousy is an unbecoming of a lead regalia.” He shook his head in an almost dismal manner—almost because there was a mischievous grin on his lips.

“Come on, Lady Meebo,” Edna teased. She jabbed him in his stomach with the tip of her umbrella while wearing a devious smirk that absolutely tainted her delicate visage. “They need their privacy.”

Lailah nodded in agreement, but her smile was far kinder than Zaveid's or Edna's. Still, Mikleo glanced worriedly at Sorey before following the other regalias down the steps of the inn's porch. He raised his eyes towards the night sky and squinted in search for the reptilian beast soaring in the grey clouds. His heart stopped for a beat upon spotting the shadow in front of the moon.

He thought of the child god he had met for the first time three hundred years ago, of his bright smiles and playful grins, who spent all of his time outdoors climbing trees, venturing caves, exploring ruins. He thought of the child god who had studied tirelessly under Lailah and Gramps' mentorship. He thought of the child god who had trained together with himself and the other regalias of Elysia. He thought of the child god who had decided to leave the village where he had been raised, who had journeyed into the unknown and expanded his little family of oddballs and misfits. He thought of the child who he had known and wondered, just to himself, just when had Sorey grown so much.

Mikleo hadn't realised that a single tear had trickled down his cheek from his left eye. Appalled, he hurriedly wiped it away with the back of his hand before anyone else could see, but it was already too late. Edna and Zaveid wore matching grins that stretched widely across their smug countenances while Lailah had the decency to hide her amusement behind her dainty hand.

Panic coursed through him when he realised they were obviously misunderstanding something. He just didn't know exactly what they were misunderstanding.

“Don't worry, Mama-leo,” Edna teased. “All baby Soreys have to leave the nest someday.”

“That's not it!” Mikleo protested. His heart still ached though, well aware that Edna was only touching the surface of whatever he was feeling, and the heated flush that burned into his cheeks did nothing to deter her from taunting him.

Zaveid patted his back and said, “They all have to grow up eventually, Mickey boy.”

Mikleo shrugged off the older man's hand and muttered, “I already know that.” Sorey would mature and continue to mature until he perfectly fit the image of a beloved god worshipped by nearly the entire continent. On the other hand, Mikleo would remain the same as ever. As Sorey grew stronger, the only thing Mikleo could do was continue to guide him and serve him until he was no longer useful. He was a regalia, after all, merely a sacred tool for Sorey to use even if the young god didn't see Mikleo in that light.

Mikleo would see to it that his duty would be fulfilled, no matter what, for Sorey's sake.

“We should move to an open area,” Lailah suggested. “I'm sure Sorey thought of the same.”

Sorey's voice, carried by the wind, reached Mikleo's ears. At his words, Mikleo nearly laughed, thinking, _Of course, that's just like you_ , but refrained from acting out of line. Hiding a smile behind his hand, Mikleo replied to his allies, voice a bit stifled, “Let's go then.”

* * *

“Who are you?” Alisha Diphda asked him. Her voice was a particular mixture of awe and fear and curiosity that had Sorey grinning sheepishly and scratching the back of his neck. “How did you know that I…” She faltered halfway through voicing her inquiry, halted by shame and embarrassment, before recollecting her previous confidence. “How did you know that I prayed to the Shepherd? What business have you in Marlind? Hardly any travellers stop by now that news of the plague has spread.”

“My name is Sorey! I heard your prayer,” Sorey answered her, “so I thought I would help.” His grin was nothing but amiable now, losing most traces of its former apprehension. “You were very sincere; it moved me.”

Alisha reddened, no doubt flustered, and she averted her gaze. “You know who I am?”

“Princess Alisha Diphda of the Hyland Kingdom,” Sorey replied. He tilted his head curiously and asked, “Is that a problem?”

She shook her head and responded, “Most people already know who I am, so it's not a problem.” Alisha hesitated and clarified, “You must think the entire situation silly—a princess having to resort to myths, legends, and lore to fix the problems of her kingdom.”

“Not at all,” Sorey answered. His smile softened. “Humans are amazing. They can do anything if they put their mind to it, but at the same time, they're so frail with just their individual strength. I like to think that I'm strong because I'm with all of my friends. They're always supporting me. Humans can only do so much alone, so I'm happy that you decided to reach out for help rather than handling everything by yourself.”

Alisha returned his smile and giggled into her hand. “You speak as though you're not a person yourself,” she mused aloud.

Sorey laughed sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. “Do I?”

“As far as I can tell,” Alisha replied, voice full of sincerity, “you're a good person, Sorey.” With renewed curiosity, she asked him, “Why is it that you wish to be strong though?”

He glanced towards the side, to where Mikleo should be, and answered, “There's someone I want to protect at all costs.”

“She must be a wonderful person,” Alisha responded.

“He,” Sorey corrected gently, “is—most definitely. He's graceful and elegant, and _beautiful_ , and intelligent and witty and really talented and skilled. He always thinks so much and tries to do everything himself though, and all I want to tell him is that everything will be okay—that he doesn't have to worry himself sick because I'm here and everyone's fine and _everything's okay_.”

Alisha smiled. “I'm sure you'll be able to tell him one day,” she assured him.

“Yeah, I hope so,” Sorey replied with a light chuckle. Clearing his throat, he told her, “I have to go now! My friends are waiting for me! I'll see you around, Alisha!”

“Sorey!” Alisha called just before he disappeared around the corner. Pausing in his steps, he turned around to glance at her, bewilderment evident in his features, before grinning when she said, “I wish you the best of luck!”

Sorey sprinted in the direction of the park just in front of the old Dumnonia Museum. He glanced around his surroundings and spotted a group of four scaling the side of an old house to climb onto the rooftop. He chuckled and waved to his regalias once they were all on even footing. Lailah and Zaveid waved back at him while Mikleo crossed his arms. Despite the distance, Sorey could just see him rolling his eyes and scoffing. Mikleo jumped when Edna poked him with the tip of her umbrella yet again, and Sorey smiled warmly at his old friend. Jogging over to them, Sorey followed their example. Once he was reunited with his party, Mikleo quipped lightly, “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry for the wait!” Sorey apologised. All playful pretences were abandoned the moment they noticed a shadow circling the moon. “Zaveid, Lailah, stay back for now. Mikleo and I will bring him down, and then we can engage at range.”

The two blades nodded their approval. “Hephsin Yulind!” Sorey exclaimed, and in a flash of light, Edna disappeared while a pair of leather gloves, in turn, appeared on Sorey's hands. “Luzrov Rulay!” Mikleo vanished, much like Edna, in a flash of light, taking the form of a wooden asymmetrical short bow that fell naturally into Sorey's hands.

Sorey held out his hand, and an arrow materialised from white light into the palm of his hand. Closing his fingers around it, imbuing the arrow with his powers of purification, he nocked it and, before he could draw back the string, he heard Mikleo's voice resonate within his mind, “Let me do the aiming. Just don't release too early or too late, Sorey.”

Sorey smiled wryly. “At least have some faith in me, Mikleo.”

“Improve your shot,” Mikleo retorted, “and then I'll have reason to believe in your skills. Sometimes you release premature, and other times you overcompensate. It's quite straining, you know.”

“Sorry, my bad!” Sorey responded, smile stretching across his lips as he drew back the string and targeted the dragon in the sky. Just a little bit more, he thought to himself, waiting for it to enter his firing range.

“Almost there,” Mikleo assured him. “Wait for it… wait for it… _now!_ ”

The arrow shot past his fingers like a bolt of lightning the moment Sorey loosened his grip. “All right!” he cheered as the drake plummeted from the night skies. He leapt off the roof, bracing himself as dust and dirt imploded around them from the impact, bringing his arms up to his face to cover his nose and mouth. He never once relaxed his grip on Luzrov Rulay,

“Sorey!” Zaveid roared, pushing the young god aside as he hurriedly slashed his hand through the air, drawing a boundary between them and the drake. “Shit!” he cursed once the drake rammed through the barrier head first, shattering the shield as though it was mere glass. It may not have been the size of a fully grown dragon, but that didn't mean it _wasn't_ powerful on its own. However, Zaveid had realised that all too late. Zaveid grunted as the drake whipped its tail across the area, slamming into his middle and flinging him across the park.

Lailah cried out in shock, and Sorey made to call her name to summon Fethmus Mioma into his hand and out of immediate danger. However, a shadow fell over his head, and before he could even think, his arms raised automatically— _against his own will_ —to defend against the drake's attack.

That split second was enough to make him realise that Mikleo was protecting him, that _this_ was what Mikleo meant by protecting him. During all of those centuries they've spent together, Mikleo didn't mean just to keep him safe; Mikleo strove to keep Sorey alive _no matter what the cost_. His eyes widened, and Mikleo's name fell from his lips. Sorey couldn't tell what he sounded like—frightened? Maybe. Panicked? Maybe. Shocked? Maybe—but he knew that he had to get out of there before Mikleo could do something ridiculously stupid like _risk his life_.

He didn't want this. He didn't want Mikleo protecting him like this. Not like this. Not like his own life meant nothing. He didn't want this—not at all, never, no way in heaven or hell would he ever want this.

_Mikleo, Mikleo, Mikleo, you beautiful hypocrite._

Sorey wasn't allowed to sacrifice his life for the millions of humans in the world, but Mikleo was willing to die just for him? It was unfair. Mikleo couldn't possibly be thinking of something like that. He refused to let it happen. He didn't want it to happen. It wasn't going to happen. Sorey would make sure it wouldn't happen. He had to protect Mikleo, too. He promised he would protect Mikleo. He would grow taller and stronger and more powerful and protect Mikleo.

 _He would make Mikleo happy_.

“Sorey,” Mikleo groaned as he tried bearing the weight of the dragon's front claws against the body of his bow. “What am I… going to do about you?” He chuckled like all the previous times he scolded Sorey for using his bow improperly. It wasn't funny. Sorey didn't know why he was laughing. “I'm… no good… for guarding against heavy attacks.”

“Sorey!” Edna hissed. “Hurry and get out of the way! Meebo can't hold on for any longer!”

Sorey didn't need to be told twice—or even at all. He shook off his surprise and rolled out of the way before the drake's claws could cave around him like a shrinking prison, holding Luzrov Rulay close to his body. The moment he regained his bearings, the drake lashed out at him, snapping its fangs and incisors in front of him. Before it could maul his arm from the rest of his body, Sorey could feel Mikleo lurch forward out of sheer will, steeling the body of his bow, as he braced for the attack.

“Mikleo!” Sorey cried all panicked and terrified and horrified and absolutely heartbroken because _Mikleo meant it_. The dragon's jaw closed around the tips of the bow, and he could hear the wood of the short bow crack and splinter. His heart plummeted, and tears dripped from his eyes as he tried pulling Luzrov Rulay back. However, the dragon was latched tightly onto Mikleo, enraged that he couldn't seem to break a mere wooden short bow. “Mikleo!” Sorey called out to his friend, voice cracking into a broken plea. “Revert, Mi—”

“Sorey,” Mikleo grunted, voice heavy with exhaustion. “Sorey, let go of me.”

Sorey could feel his heart fall to the pit of his stomach. Mikleo had always warned him about his aversion to guarding against attacks. He had always complained about being used as a replacement for Lailah or Zaveid to whack enemies. (“ _I'm going to crack one day_.”) This isn't funny, Mikleo. Okay, I get it. I won't do it ever again. Just please, don't give up—not on me, not on you. Sorey swallowed the bile climbing up his throat as he croaked, “No! Never! Revert, Mi—”

“ _Sorey_ ,” Mikleo protested. Finite. Absolute. Undeterred. Sorey hated how stubborn Mikleo could be, how beautifully headstrong he could be. He hated it so much, loathed it with every fibre of his being, in this one single moment. “It's too late.”

Sorey could hear the unspoken words screaming at him, clinging to him in the form of doubt that he tried to shake off. “Even if you made him revert,” the voice of reason whispered in his head, “the two of you can't make it out without someone to buy time.” Mikleo would never stand for it if that someone was Sorey, but Sorey refused for it to be Mikleo. He was a god. His decisions were just. Mikleo would understand if he just gave Sorey the chance to make his orders.

Mikleo only had this one life. The young god remembered the raging soldiers, the crying villagers, the dying innocents, the horrified mother, the wretched chieftain, and the blooming rose scattering red petals against porcelain white skin. He remembered memories that were only his to keep safe and guard and protect and lock up. This was Mikleo's second chance—his only chance at a semblance of life—while Sorey had plenty ahead of him.

It was okay. Just this once, wouldn't it be okay? Mikleo would forgive him, right?

“No, it's not! It's not too late!” Sorey argued. “Don't say that!” His voice strained his throat as he screeched at Mikleo to just—just _stop,_ _stop, stop! Please stop!_ Don't do it, don't do it _please—_ until he was hoarse and sore and raspy. It hurt. Everything hurt. He didn't think it could hurt _so badly_.

“I can't… I can't hold on… much longer,” Mikleo reasoned between ragged breaths. In that moment, he was Atlas, and Sorey couldn't simply leave even Atlas there to suffer by himself. “It's dangerous… Get back, S-Sorey.”

“I won't leave you!” Sorey persisted.

“ _Live_ , Sorey…” Mikleo insisted. “Edna, please… I'm begging you… keep him safe. Tell Lailah that… that I'm sorry.”

Edna was silent but then, aware of the reality and the urgency of the situation, replied a second later, “I got it, Mikleo.”

Sorey's eyes widened in— _disbelief? repulsion? he didn't quite know_ —as he felt Hephsin Yulind pry his fingers off his bow, his first regalia, his first friend, his first love. Don't do this. Not to me. Don't do this—please, please, _please_ —stop, stop, _stop_. “No, no, no, no, no!” he pleaded. “Mikleo!”

Before he could reach out again, Sorey felt Lailah pull him back by the waist. In front of him, he watched, gaping, as the wooden short bow, as Luzrov Rulay, Mikleo the Enforcer, his precious friend, his most beloved, his steadfast guidepost, shattered into a million fragments. White particles of light lifted towards the sky, carried by the wind like shimmering dust, to join with the brightly scattered stars against the dark canvas of the night skies.

“Mikleo!” he shrieked, distressed, distraught, on the verge of vomiting. He begged and pleaded the stars above, “Revert, Mikleo! _Mikleo_! _Come back_!”

There was no sign of his beautiful silvery blue hair that shone underneath the moonlight, no sign of his precious amethyst jewels that glimmered in the dark, no sign of his lyrical voice that sang of playful teasing and friendly banter. There was nothing there. Nothing but the roar of the drake.

Tears rolled from Sorey's eyes, but he didn't sob. Behind him, he could hear Lailah whimper. Edna was eerily quiet. Zaveid… Zaveid had closed his eyes as if mourning.

Mikleo couldn't be gone.

Mikleo promised, didn't he? That he'd always protect him?

Mikleo couldn't be gone.

Three hundred years… couldn't be gone—just like that.

A cry— _of pain? of loss? of grief?_ he didn't quite know—ripped at his throat. In the next instant, he called for Fethmus Mioma and Wirukun Zavie, and the blades appeared in his hands as he charged towards the drake blindly— _in rage? for vengeance? or was it sorrow?_ Sorey himself didn't know any more—and rained attacks upon the young dragon. The only thing in his mind, running in infinite loops, was “Give him back, give him back, give him back!”

True Fang, Freezing Strike, Wolfwind Fang, Frigid Moon _—_

— _Mikleo, Mikleo, Mikleo—_

—disappear, disappear, disappear—

— _return to me, Mikleo—_

—Heavenly Torrent, Lion's Howl, Beast Thunder _—_

“Sorey, please listen to me!”

“Sorey, you've gotta stop this!”

“Sorey, don't be ridiculous!”

Sorey knew he was tired. He could feel it in his bones. He was exhausted. He was panting. But he couldn't stop. Not until this drake was vanquished. Not until he returned to dust. Not until one of them was gone. He didn't want to know a world without Mikleo. He promised he'd give Mikleo everything. He'd give him happiness. He'd make sure that he was safe. He'd protect him.

And he had _failed_.

“Sorey, you idiot! Didn't you hear what I said?!”

A weight rammed into his side just as he was about to launch another flurry of attacks, and Sorey skidded across the ground. He looked up, blinking when he found a pair of intelligent violet eyes glowering violently at him.

“I've always wanted you to _live and treasure your life_ , you moron!” Mikleo hissed, punching him in the shoulder, still straddling the young god's hips.

“Mikleo!” Lailah exclaimed, beating Sorey to the punch.

“Mickey boy!” Zaveid cried. “Is it really you?”

Mikleo rolled his eyes. “You can see, can't you?”

“But how?” Edna inquired, just as awestruck.

Mikleo shrugged non-committally, but Sorey could feel the regalia tremble above him at the memory of what had happened mere moments ago. In the next second, Sorey wrapped his arms around the small of Mikleo's back, pulling the smaller boy closer— _in_ _relief? in bliss? with love?_ Sorey didn't quite know, but he frankly didn't care—in a warm embrace. Mikleo relaxed in his cradle, winding his slender arms around Sorey's neck, and the young god sighed quietly as he pressed his ear against Mikleo's chest.

The heartbeat pounding there was all that he needed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mikleo could see the drake marching towards them. Instinctively, he snapped, “ _Restrain_!” Invisible chains snaked itself around the drake's larger frame, and it struggled to move, thrashing about, screeching and wailing, squirming and writhing, but Mikleo couldn't yet feel relief washing over him. It wasn't over yet.

“Mikleo!” Lailah repeated yet again, her voice filled with utter glee and delight. “That's a spell only a blessed regalia can use!”

“Blessed regalia?!” Zaveid exclaimed in shock. “Aren't those guys super rare?”

“Well, Meebo is a one of a kind weirdo,” Edna teased, though there was an underlying tone in her voice that betrayed how impressed she truly was and how worried she had been.

“Sorey,” Mikleo addressed the dumbfounded young god sternly, disregarding his allies' reaction to his spell-casting entirely, “call my name.”

Sorey snapped out of his stupor and shook his head adamantly, fear turning the blood in his veins cold, as he stared at Mikleo with wide eyes. Mikleo's gaze softened. He glanced worriedly at the restrained beast behind them before leaning forward, cupping Sorey's face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. Sorey melted in his cool hands, holding Mikleo's right hand in place by the wrist, as he relaxed in his touch. Mikleo smiled at the warmth, but they couldn't leave things undone.

A blessed regalia, he recalled from his lessons during his early days at Elysia, was a spirit who had gone through unimaginable trials and tribulations to prove his undying loyalty to his lord true. They were essentially more powerful than a mere regalia. They knew more spells, possessed more spiritual power, and were highly valuable to the high heavens. He didn't know if it was true; after all, blessed regalias were scarce. It was entirely speculation, but if by some miracle it was true,then they could finish this. However, he needed Sorey to be willing to use him.

“Sorey,” Mikleo whispered softly in a tone he reserved only for his lord in their most private moments, “trust me. Call my name.”

Sorey shook his head, feather earrings jingling quietly like wind chimes, persistent.

“Sorey, I'm sorry,” Mikleo apologised, pressing a gentle kiss against his forehead. “I scared you. I'm sorry for that, but please trust me.”

Sorey's grip tightened around his wrist. “I won't let you leave me again,” Sorey protested.

“I won't leave you alone,” Mikleo promised. “I swear upon the name you bestowed upon me. You will never be alone.”

“Stay by my side,” Sorey pleaded.

“I'm with you,” Mikleo assured, “so trust me. Call my name.”

“But—”

“That spell isn't going to last against a dragon—drake or not,” Mikleo stated. “You've wasted too much energy bringing it to this state. You're tired. I saw you. Lailah and the others can't bear to see you like this. Please, use me. Call my name. I promise you that I will never leave you, Sorey—not again. There won't be a second time.”

Sorey hesitated, but then he dropped his gaze to the ground. “Revert, Lailah,” he muttered. “Revert, Zaveid.” Fethmus Mioma and Wirukun Zavie changed back to their human forms. He gulped, swallowing his fears, as he rasped out, “Come to me, Luzrov Rulay.”

Mikleo smiled, a small upturn of his lips that only Sorey could see, and stroked his hair just before he contorted into white light as though to praise him. Lailah gasped, and Zaveid whistled in admiration as a long bow, carved elegantly with beautiful asymmetric curves like the rolling of ocean waves, fell into Sorey's hands. It was finished in a sapphire blue, glittering like moonlight reflecting off the water's surface, and easily stretched two metres high.

Edna grunted. “Meebo, you've gained weight.”

“It's not my fault!” Mikleo protested.

Sorey cracked a smile at their exchange.

“Sorey,” Mikleo told him, “I'll aim. We have to do it before the spell breaks.”

Sorey nodded in response. He held out his hand, and like before, an arrow materialised into his palm from white light. He nocked the arrow, positioning it according to Mikleo's instructions, as he heard his blessed regalia whisper calmly to him.

“Steady… steady… breathe… Okay, hold your position, draw… and fire.”

That night, Zaveid didn't complain when Sorey held Mikleo tightly in his arms, pressed against his chest, to the point where there was no space separating the two of them. Neither one of the regalias said a word about how Sorey cried himself to sleep that night.

The next morning, nobody questioned a single thing when Sorey refused to release Mikleo's hand. The two boys leaned against the wooden fence lining the porch of the inn outside, watching as the miasma cleared up, replaced with a growing sense of hope, effectively starving the phantoms. “Looks like everything is going well,” Mikleo commented aloud. He didn't say anything about how Sorey pressed closer to him, their shoulders bumping against one another.

“Everyone's giving everything they've got into the restoration effort,” Sorey agreed. “They have more medicine delivered, the people's health is improving substantially, and they're making repairs to the town. I heard that they're planning on expanding the hospital.”

Mikleo hummed. “That's good. I guess that's case closed for Alisha Diphda's prayer. It was probably the most difficult one we've had in a while.”

“I definitely don't want to go through that again,” Sorey mused quietly, weak smile on his lips. Mikleo didn't comment when Sorey's grip tightened. He instead laced their fingers together. “Don't do that ever again.” Sorey's voice cracked. “You've always told me to treasure my life, but that doesn't mean you're allowed to throw yours away for mine. I'm older now. I'm taller now. I'm stronger now. Let me protect you, too, Mikleo.”

Mikleo glanced to his side, noticing that Sorey's gaze was, once again, downcast. Before he could say anything, another voice called out Sorey's name. Mikleo turned his attention behind him, eyes falling upon the blonde haired girl from last name, and Sorey followed suite. “Alisha!” Sorey exclaimed, surprised.

The princess, too, appeared quite shocked upon noticing their intertwined fingers. She glanced over Mikleo and smiled pleasantly at him. “Sorey's told me much about you,” she told him. “My name is Alisha Diphda.”

“I'm Mikleo,” he responded amicably, narrowing his eyes at Sorey, who chuckled sheepishly. “What kind of things has he told you exactly?”

Alisha giggled. “He said plenty,” she replied. “I wasn't sure I quite understood at the time, but now I think that I can say that I do.”

Mikleo sighed, knowing that he couldn't quite defeat a knight's code of honour. A secret it is, then, the blessed regalia mused to himself.

“What's up, Alisha?” Sorey inquired.

The lady knight paused, contemplating a proper response, but then answered honestly, “I'm not sure how, but the town seems to be in high spirits today. The medicine seems to be taking effect, and there have been positive results after administration. It wasn't like this before—not until you appeared, Sorey. Who _are_ you?”

Sorey grinned. “Well… just a traveller.”

Mikleo rolled his eyes and elbowed Sorey. “Sorey is just Sorey,” he told Alisha. Softening his tone, he told her, “Maybe the Shepherd blessed the town, after all.”

Alisha smiled in response. “Maybe he did.” She held her hands behind her back and asked, almost shyly, “I take it that you are about to leave?”

Sorey nodded. “We have other towns to visit, ruins to explore, an entire world waiting for us out there!” he exclaimed.

She laughed and mused, “I'm a bit envious! I've always wanted to travel the world!” She smiled fondly, past Sorey, past Mikleo, remembering something only she knew, and mused, “My duty is to my people though, and I would have it no other way.”

“Good luck, Alisha,” Sorey told her.

“You, too, Sorey. I wish you the best of luck in your adventures.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In _Noragami_ , a regalia can evolve from his/her original form to a better form by proving his/her loyalty to the god he/she serves, sometimes risking the name bestowed upon the regalia. It only occurs under unique circumstances, and the new form will last forever. In Mikleo's case, he went from a hunter's short bow to a war weapon, the long bow.


	7. A Different Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wheels have been set in motion, and things will never be the same.

“Mikleo became a blessed regalia?” Gramps mused aloud. A subtle smile that glowed with pride was carved onto his lips. He then took another slow, contemplative drag from his pipe as he mulled over the news.

Sorey, sitting across from him, nodded with an expression Gramps, who had raised him for at least two hundred years, could not place. It was an odd mixture to see the young god wear. Usually so radiant, there was a touch of solemnity and lament in Sorey's countenance. It was as though the mere thought of having a blessed regalia—of Mikleo having become a blessed regalia—had soured his mood. On the other hand, Mikleo was trying to hide the heavy blush on his cheeks by staring at the floor; he was never one to accept praise readily. Still, whatever valiant deed he had done deserved to be praised, and Gramps was not yet done with the topic at hand—even if Sorey was unwilling to discuss with them.

“I must say that I'm not entirely surprised,” the Wiseman remarked after exhaling a smoke ring. He glanced over at the two and added, “It must have been quite difficult, Mikleo. Becoming a blessed regalia is an extraordinary feat.”

Subconsciously, Mikleo clutched at his chest as though to check if his heart was still beating, colour drained entirely from his face, as he recalled the battle against the drake. Sorey, who had noticed his friend's reaction, scowled. His jade eyes darkened to the colour of forest leaves in the middle of night, shining with a soft melancholy underneath the moonlight. He found that the words he wanted to say were hitched in his throat. As though sensing Sorey's reticence, Mikleo spoke for the two of them, “It was painful.”

That was an understatement, and everyone present in the room knew it.

“I won't ask for details,” Gramps replied. “You've always been a brilliant regalia though. You trained diligently, studied diligently, and mastered abilities at quite an impressive rate. It had taken Kyme several months to perfect his boundary, yet you had mastered it within a matter of weeks. I know a few other gods have had their eye on you the moment you've proved your capabilities in the world below. Your worth has only increased to them now that you are a blessed regalia.”

Sorey visibly bristled. “You talk as if Mikleo is only—”

“Sorey,” Mikleo chided sternly. His heart lurched in his chest, aching, as he realised Sorey's odd behaviour was _all his fault_. Sorey would have never spoken against Gramps otherwise. Sorey respected him as a child would respect his parents. Gramps had raised him, shaped him into a wonderful young man, set him on his path to become a kind, benevolent god, and Mikleo was supposed to guide him.

During the time the heavens collected the fragments of his being, gave him new form, breathed life into him for the third time, he wasn't there to guide Sorey, and Sorey had lost himself.

“To the other gods,” Gramps stated, seemingly unperturbed by Sorey's outburst, “as far as they are concerned, Mikleo is just a tool, a sacred weapon, and quite a valuable one. The two of you ought to be more careful. While the other gods are aware that Lailah is symbolic of the Shepherd, Mikleo is different. I am certain there are gods who desire him even more now, and they might be shameless enough to approach you during the upcoming festival.”

“I would never abandon Sorey,” Mikleo promised.

Gramps chortled. “I know that,” he retorted. “Didn't you just prove your undying loyalty to him? I'm glad he has someone like you around, Mikleo.”

Mikleo flushed again in embarrassment.

* * *

“What is this?” Sorey asked the redhead as she grinned at him from across the wooden table. He glanced down at the mountains of gald presented to him and then turned his attention back to her. “Rose, what is this?” he repeated, genuinely confused by the offer she had made.

“Like I said,” Rose chirped, leaning forward on the table, “Mikleo is a blessed regalia now, right? They're so rare that I can count them on one hand! He's worth a fortune, Sorey! An entire fortune!” She smirked—the kind of sleazy smirk she usually made when pushing a business deal forward—and questioned, “So what do you say? How much do you want for him?”

Sorey could feel something boiling in his veins, and it was unpleasant. He frowned, clenching his fingers underneath the table's surface, and snapped, “Rose, I would _never_ sell off Mikleo!” He couldn't believe she would suggest such a thing! There was no way that he would be willing to give up Mikleo, and he couldn't fathom why she would try in the first place to persuade him—money or not—to _sell_ _Mikleo_. “There's no way I'm letting him go!” Sorey hissed, slamming his hand against the table's surface. A burning, stinging pain seared throughout his palm, the heat throbbing and aching, but he didn't care. There was an even worse agony tearing at his heart. “After everything that has happened, how could I possibly just let him go like that? You _know_ how close we are! Where did you even get this idea from?”

Rose stared at him, gawking blatantly, and Sorey squirmed underneath the attention—suddenly self-conscious. Now that his voice wasn't filling the dining hall with his cries, Sorey was left only with the silence. He hadn't even realised that he had burst from his seat and quietly reseated himself. He set his arms on the table and twiddled his thumbs, mumbling an apology in passing, as shame crossed his expression.

Sorey flinched when the Goddess of Fortune erupted in a fit of giggles across from him. He blinked slowly, unsure of what to do, and waited patiently until she calmed herself. Wiping a tear from her eye, she mused aloud, “I knew you'd say that! I was just testing your reaction! You'll get a lot more of this at the festival; hell, there might even be ogling involved! Wow, Sorey, did you really think that I would try to buy Mikleo from you?”

“I… was confused,” Sorey confessed. He rubbed the back of his neck and said, “A lot happened, recently.”

“I'll say!” Rose replied. Her tone adopted a more serious note as she lowered her voice, even though it was only the two of them in the dining room, and said, “Becoming a blessed regalia is seriously no joke. What the hell happened out there? You've always been protective over him, but now you're… you're even _more_ protective of him. I didn't even think that was possible.”

Sorey grimaced at the memory, choosing to study the intricate patterns on the table surface instead of meeting Rose's steady, calculating gaze. He bit his lower lip as he mulled over a response in his head before repeating his previous answer, “A lot happened, Rose.”

Rose stared at him in length before sighing and reclining in her seat. “So you say,” Rose stated in a clipped tone. She sighed and assured her fellow god, “It's fine. I won't pry if you're not willing to talk about it, but… you're okay, right? You and Mikleo aren't hurt, are you?”

Sorey smiled at her concern, finally raising his head to make eye contact with Rose. There was a trace of sadness in the gentle curve of his lips, and drops of dew dared to fall from the verdant green of his eyes. “Rose,” he said, his voice cracking as he gradually fell apart, “I don't know what to do any more.”

She watched, astounded, speechless, as he raked his fingers through his hair in distress. “I… I don't want to use Mikleo any more,” Sorey spluttered. “I don't want to have to use him as a weapon. I don't want the same thing to happen ever again. I'm scared, Rose. I'm absolutely terrified of losing him. I can't—I can't do it. I can't call his name. I don't want to lose him; I want him to be by my side—always and forever. I want him to be there when I look to my left. I just want him here, well, and alive. Is that too much to ask for?”

Rose exhaled the breath she didn't know she was holding. “That's quite the marriage proposal. Are you sure I'm the one you're supposed to be telling this?”

Sorey flushed. “Rose, this isn't funny.”

“It seriously sounded like you want to marry him,” Rose retorted. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat, tilting the chair on its hind legs. “Listen, Sorey. You should know this already, but a god can't exorcise phantoms without a regalia. Likewise, a regalia can't do anything without a god. Their only line of defence is a boundary, and that's only if they are particularly skilled. It's even more difficult to cast spells.

“Therefore, a mutual relationship exists between a god and his regalia. By not using Mikleo, you're basically leaving him to collect dust. Mikleo is your lead regalia; he's meant to be used. That's the reason why he was given a second chance at life—so that he can be useful to the gods.”

Sorey's cheeks reddened for an entirely different reason. “Mikleo isn't a tool!”

“Mikleo _is_ a tool, Sorey,” Rose corrected smoothly. “A regalia is a sacred tool, a sacred weapon, to be used by the gods. They were once human, but now they live for our use and disposal.”

“You can't _possibly_ think that way!” Sorey cried. He had seen the way Rose had interacted with her regalias, and he knew that she treated them nothing like mere objects. They were worth so much more to her; they meant so much to her. He couldn't believe it. He refused to believe Rose thought that way. “What about Dezel? Eguille? Rosh? The Ayn twins? Aren't they your family?”

“And I treasure them,” Rose countered. “Ultimately, it is up to the god himself to determine what to do with his own regalia. In my case, I play family. I listen to their concerns, and they listen to my concerns. We've reached a compromise.” She set her chair back down on the ground and stared at Sorey—examining him and running calculations in her head—before saying, “You haven't discussed a thing with Mikleo, Sorey. There's no way you can fully understand each other without a proper conversation—not after whatever had happened. I don't give a damn how long you two have known each other, how well you two know each other now, or anything of the sort. There's clearly a misunderstanding here.”

Sorey was silent. Rose didn't know what else to say. They sat unmoving like a still frame until the sound of a door opening broke the silence. Rose was the first to blink, and then the two gods turned their heads to face Mikleo, who carried with him a tray of fruit frappés. Rose immediately beamed at the sight of the desserts, and if Mikleo had been a dog person, he would have thought her reaction adorable. Unfortunately, he didn't find dogs to be that endearing, and Rose, frankly, was unnerving him with the way she was staring at him.

“Seriously, Sorey, let me have Mikleo!” Rose pleaded the moment Mikleo set the fruity dessert in front of her. “Dezel doesn't have the kind of delicacy Mikleo does with desserts! Not that Dezel's snacks are bad, but it's different when you have someone who likes sweets making them!”

“W-Who likes sweets?” Mikleo protested heavily. “I only make them because Sorey and the others tell me to do it! It's not like I particularly like them or anything!”

“What a liar!” Rose cackled before she took a delightfully cool sip of the frappé, revelling in its tangy sweetness. “Nobody can make desserts this well if they hated it!” She sighed dramatically and glanced over at her fellow god. “You're so lucky, Sorey, to have just a faithful and talented regalia.”

Sorey glanced up at Mikleo, who had set Sorey's own frappé in front of him, and smiled. “Yeah, I know.”

Mikleo glowed twenty shades of red before mumbling, “What are you talking about…” Just as he was about to leave the two gods to themselves, Sorey grasped onto his wrist. Mikleo glanced over his shoulder, only to meet with Sorey's imploring stare, asking him to stay. Sighing, Mikleo collapsed into the seat behind Sorey.

“So,” Rose addressed the two of them, “are you ready for the spring festival?”

Mikleo raised a brow and replied, “What's there to be ready for? It'll be like the year before that and the year before that. Nothing has changed.” He huffed at the thought of the spring festival and crossed his arms, griping, “Gods get together to feast and drink, meddle in human love affairs, and make merry instead of working. I'm not expecting anything to be different this year.”

“Mikleo, we gods work all year round!” Rose protested. “We deserve a break every now and then!”

“I'll have you know that the day after the spring festival is always the worst!” Mikleo remarked. “Sorey and the rest of us have to clean up after everyone! Do you _know_ how many phantoms manifest if there aren't any gods to guide the humans on a right and just path?”

“Isn't it fine?” Rose chirped. “You'll get your exercise and lose all the weight you gained the night before!”

“I don't gain weight!” Mikleo cried, frustrated. He was _dead_! There was no way that his physical appearance would ever change! Rose of all people should know considering she managed her own troupe of regalias!

Rose cackled, and for a moment, both Sorey and Mikleo had to wonder if she was really the Goddess of Fortune considering how sinister she had sounded. “You're so much fun to mess with, Mikleo!” she exclaimed. Standing up, she announced, “Anyway, I'm going to take my leave now! I guess you don't need any pointers on how to deal with persistent gods, Sorey. Mikleo, do me a favour and show me out? Every time I come here, it never gets easier navigating Artorius' Throne!”

Sorey stood up as well and said, “I can come with—”

Rose shook her head and retorted, “Don't you have god things to do? Go answer prayers or something before Mikleo lectures you and I'm left without a guide!” Linking her arm with Mikleo's, she practically dragged the silver haired regalia out the dining hall and into the lobby.

“Why did you lie to him?” Mikleo asked Rose once they could no longer be heard by Sorey. “Gramps told me you helped keep this place tidy when Sorey was still a child. You come over to visit so frequently I doubt that you'd get lost.”

“Straight to the point, aren't you, Mikleo?” Rose mused. She crossed her arms behind her head and thought aloud, “I guess it's because it involves Sorey.”

Mikleo flushed red. “I'm just asking because you obviously tried to hide the fact that you wanted to speak to me in private,” he protested.

Rose smiled at Mikleo, and Mikleo was reminded of the reason why he was never quite fond of Rose's smile. If they weren't genuine, they were difficult to read. He wasn't used to it after spending so much time with the painfully sincere Sorey. Rose, although generous, was the more conniving god between the two of them. “I'm worried about him,” she admitted, “and he's worried about you.”

Mikleo pursed his lips together before nodding hesitantly. “He's been like this since I've become a blessed regalia. The other have noticed, but nobody wanted to talk about the elephant in the room. It may be because nobody knew how to address it.”

Rose hummed in response. “If he appears to the spring festival in this state, the other gods would walk all over him the way he is right now,” she stated. “Gods aren't like humans; they don't fare well with change.This Sorey is far too different from the previous Shepherds, and they question his capabilities because this is new to them. Now that Sorey has a blessed regalia, something he never had in his past lives, he's only drawing more attention to himself.”

Mikleo sighed through his nose, his chest lifting and then slumping the next second. He crossed his arms and said, “I think I know what has been bothering him.”

Rose raised an inquisitive brow.

Mikleo answered her silent question, “Sorey… hasn't been calling my name. He probably thought I haven't noticed, but it's rather obvious, considering how often he's used my vessel form before the battle with the drake. There's probably some lasting trauma.”

“Mikleo, what happened?”

The regalia hesitated, but then he relaxed. Rose was Sorey's friend. She had always been Sorey's friend, no matter what age. Statues of both the Goddess of Fortune and the Shepherd were often seen together in temples and shrines and churches. She was someone who could relate to Sorey, someone who he could trust despite her cunning. “Sorey, he… he saw me die,” Mikleo replied. He tried to keep his voice steady, levelled, and even, but if Rose noticed the tremble in his words, she didn't say anything.

“Well, damn,” she muttered.

“But I'm okay now,” Mikleo assured her. “I'll make sure he's okay, too.”

Rose sighed and lightly massaged her temples. “Still, there's no way he'd be 'okay' in time for the spring festival. It's in a _fortnight_! If he doesn't show up, the other gods will criticise him. If he shows up but still moping, they'll still criticise him. I want him to show up all smiley and cheerful like usual and unintentionally get in their faces.” She smiled sheepishly at Mikleo and said, “Sorry, I didn't mean to complain about politics to you.”

“It's fine,” Mikleo replied. “I can't say he can get over his trauma within that time frame, but he'll get better over time. He's Sorey, and Sorey is strong and stubborn.”

Rose snickered. “Sounds like he got it from a certain guidepost.”

Mikleo rolled his eyes. “What are you talking about, Rose?” he hissed, ignoring the way his cheeks heated with embarrassment. Maybe he had rubbed off on Sorey a little during the Shepherd's childhood; after all, they spent the most time together. The only person more stubborn than Sorey himself was probably Mikleo, but there was only one person to whom he'd admit that aloud.

“Why did you think it was a good idea to sacrifice yourself for him?” Rose inquired curiously. “You know he cares about you.”

“I care about him, too,” Mikleo responded shortly. “That's why I don't ever want him to think something like 'It's okay if I die' just because he could be reborn. He's not more of a tool than I am if he does. I don't like that.”

Rose hummed. “I think I get it. I've seen many Shepherds, too, but this is the first one who's cared so much about living…” _With you, Mikleo_. Rose faltered, refraining from speaking too much of her friend's personal secrets. “To explore all the ruins the mortal world has to offer!”

“Rose,” Mikleo called out to the goddess hesitantly.

The young woman paused in her steps and stared at Mikleo expectantly.

Mikleo gulped and then said, “I'm glad Sorey has a friend like you.” Gods cannot relate to humans, and humans cannot relate to gods. They were separate entities. Mikleo came to realise that even if he understood Sorey, there was no way he could fully empathise with him. They were alike, yet they weren't the same.

Rose, seeming to understand his message, grinned at the silver haired regalia.

The minute they arrived at the front entrance, Mikleo pulled open the door for her and nodded his greetings to Dezel. Rose skipped to her lead regalia's side and pivoted around, beaming at Mikleo. “I'll see you at the spring festival then!” Rose chirped before linking her arm with Dezel's and disappearing into the surrounding forest.

Mikleo smiled faintly at their fading forms.

“So she still expects to see us there…”

Mikleo sighed once more that day. Glancing back to Artorius' Throne, he wondered what he'd have to do with the young god who resided here.

“Really, you're such a troublemaker, Sorey.”

* * *

Sorey yelped, clutching the back of his head, after Mikleo had suddenly greeted him with a smack. He pouted and whined, “Mikleo, what was _that_ for?”

“Accompany me to Pendrago,” Mikleo demanded, crossing his arms over his chest, as he stared at Sorey in a manner that told the young god that his lead regalia refused to take “no” as an answer.

That was how the two of them landed in the middle of a human city with all of its hustle and bustle. Sorey followed closely at Mikleo's heel as the regalia navigated the city as though he had lived here for his entire life. “Mikleo, where are we going?” Sorey inquired.

A burst of panic flared in his chest as more people moved between the two of them. Fearing separation, Sorey quickened his pace and latched onto Mikleo's hand, lacing their fingers together. The brunet glanced at Mikleo's visage, and an odd mixture of relief and disappointment rushed through his veins when he noticed that Mikleo didn't at all appear to be bothered by the contact.

“There's someone I want you to meet,” Mikleo replied as vaguely as vague could be.

Sorey pouted again. There was something Mikleo was avoiding, but apparently, the regalia wasn't even the least bit guilty about it. If he was hiding something shameful, then Sorey was sure to feel an unpleasant prickling sensation at the back of his neck—like the times when Zaveid would stare at the townswomen during their travels. Nevertheless, placing his faith in his lead regalia, Sorey stepped in line with Mikleo, side by side, hand in hand, as the latter guided them through the northern quarters of Pendrago. Entering the neighbourhood in the east, Mikleo escorted them to one of the larger buildings and opened the main doors.

Sorey barely caught a glimpse of the sign—Burklight Archery School—and dread began to settle in the pit of his stomach. They were finally addressing the problem with his skill at the bow, weren't they? Still, Sorey didn't think that he was so bad to the point where Mikleo had to take them to an actual archery school. They've gotten by, haven't they? For example, his sword-fighting wasn't an actual style, but he's managed to improve it over the years! He doesn't look like he's been hacking at prickleboars any more, and it was more efficient for hunting down phantoms now!

“You're back again?” a low, gravelly voice inquired, sounding rather cold and harsh. Sorey nearly flinched at the biting tone. Cool eyes glanced over him, scrutinising him up and down, though they hardly lingered so much on Mikleo's form. “Your usual spot is open. The students will be coming in two hours, so clean up after yourselves when you're done.”

“Thank you, Master,” Mikleo responded.

The elder man huffed lightly before nodding and shuffling away from the two of them.

“You've been here before?” Sorey inquired, bewildered.

“How did you think I improved my aim to make up for the lack of yours?” Mikleo retorted playfully. He pulled on Sorey's hand, ignoring the affronted expression the brunet was wearing, and guided him to the back. “When we slept at the inn in Pendrago, sometimes I come here. Master Burklight has showed me how to improve my technique—not that it even transfers to you. I figured I would learn how to compensate, but I guess I put off properly training you long enough.”

Sorey rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly, as he apologised to Mikleo, who had gone to the equipment rack. He studied each of the bows diligently before finally retrieving one and marching over to Sorey with a quiver filled with arrows. Mikleo pushed the equipment towards Sorey, who hurriedly received them. At Mikleo's instruction, Sorey began to nock an arrow onto the bow, and in an instant, Mikleo was already poking at his form.

“Keep your feet shoulder width apart,” Mikleo griped. “Put your left foot forward, and anchor your right foot right… there.” He jabbed his forefinger into Sorey's spine and nagged, “Straighten your back. Rotate your chin—” Mikleo poked at Sorey's cheek to get him to move, ignoring the heated blush the young god was wearing “—towards your shoulder. Lower your chest—I said keep your _back_ straight, Sorey—and move your shoulders downward. Got it?”

“Eh…” Sorey responded weakly. “We're never this stiff on the field.” He spoke without turning his head to meet Mikleo's studious gaze. If he did, then Mikleo would have to readjust his position, and Sorey didn't really want to go through all of that again.

“You don't have time to correct your form when battling phantoms,” Mikleo agreed, “but by doing this, you can get a better sense of balancing your shot. We're not leaving until you can hit the centre of the target.”

Sorey gaped at Mikleo, who didn't spare him a second glance. The regalia went to fetch his own bow and demonstrated in fluid, graceful movements how to position himself and the arrow. Sorey openly stared— _beautiful, beautiful, he's too beautiful—_ as Mikleo exhaled softly and steadily. Subconsciously, Sorey turned his body entirely, relaxing his form, to study his regalia. He was calm, placid, and still—like the subject of a painting. Then the silver haired teen released his fingers from the bowstring, and the arrow bolted across the floor, fastening itself into the bullseye. Grinning, Mikleo turned to Sorey and chirped, “Just like that.”

The brunet exhaled shakily. “I don't know if I can do it just like that,” Sorey confessed.

“You won't know until you try,” Mikleo protested.

Sorey surrendered and followed Mikleo's request. They had come all the way here already, after all. He picked up the bow and readjusted his position, beaming when Mikleo didn't have much to correct, only to realise that—were bows always this heavy? Mikleo had made it look so easy. Sorey never had so much trouble with Luzrov—

The first arrow went flying into the wall next to the target. Sorey flushed with embarrassment. He glanced at Mikleo, but the regalia didn't say so much of a word. He merely kept watching, waiting for Sorey to nock his next arrow.

What was Mikleo planning to do? Sorey wondered. They've always worked together even though, now he realised, Mikleo did most of the work to make sure they actually hit their target like the drake—

The second arrow barely grazed the target. Mikleo still said nothing.

No way, did he catch on? Sorey glanced at Mikleo once more, but the regalia was still just watching, still just studying him. Sorey clenched his fingers and drew another arrow from the quiver, setting it in position, and drew the bow. If he could, then he would avoid using Luzrov Rulay. He'd keep Mikleo safe at all costs even if--

When the third arrow hit the space above the target, Sorey knew that Mikleo knew what the brunet was thinking.

Try as he might, Sorey couldn't have done much better than hitting the outer rings of the target. At one point, the old man returned to check on them. He glanced over Sorey's target and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head dismally at the young god. “Clear your mind!” the master archer snapped. “Your form is improving, but your mind is full of turmoil! The target reflects an archer's heart! Remain firm and resolved! Keep yourself steady!”

Leaving that bit of advice, he excused himself. Sorey kept his gaze on the floor, not wanting to meet Mikleo's stare. He wasn't sure what expression his lead regalia would wear—disappointment? Most likely. Even on his off days, Sorey could usually hit his target. Now he was barely grazing the target itself. He heard Mikleo shuffle across the wooden planks. “Sorey, go take a break in the back,” Mikleo suggested.

Sorey, thus, picked up his feet and hiked all the way to the back of the shooting range. It was to his surprise that Mikleo didn't join him. Instead, the silvery blue haired regalia remained at the front, maintaining his form, as he fired the last couple of arrows in Sorey's quiver. His first, his second, and his third all hit the centre. Sorey smiled as pride swelled in his chest. Mikleo was his prodigious regalia. Mikleo was his beautiful regalia. Mikleo was a portrait of elegance and grace.

“I wanted to talk to you today,” Mikleo explained as he nocked his fourth arrow.

Sorey's heart skipped a beat. Hundreds of thousands of possibilities flooded his mind, and panic rose in his chest and up his throat as he realised that, perhaps, Mikleo had picked up on how he was behaving. It wasn't impossible. Sorey always knew when something bothered Mikleo, and given how long they've known each other, Mikleo probably figured out when Sorey had something on his mind as well. Sorey swallowed the bile gathering in his throat and asked, “About what?”

“You haven't called my name at all recently,” Mikleo remarked. He loosed his fourth arrow, and it flew to the bullseye as though attracted by an unknown force. “You used to call it all the time before I became a blessed regalia. Did I disappoint you?”

Sorey watched, appalled and astounded all the same, as Mikleo bent over to reach into the quiver. He pulled out another arrow and set it calmly, returning to perfect position, all poised and collected. “Of course not!” Sorey protested. “Mikleo, you were amazing!”

“Then why?” Mikleo hissed. The arrow flew after its predecessor, nailing dead centre. He pivoted on his heel and glowered at Sorey. “I can't question your decision, but I would still like to know why you've been avoiding me.”

Sorey hesitated, and Mikleo broke the silence with a sigh. Giving Sorey all the time he needed to formulate a response, Mikleo picked up another arrow. Just as he was about to release the arrow, Sorey questioned, “Do you still remember the promise we made three hundred years ago?”

“Of course I do,” Mikleo answered. Like the others, the arrow flew to the cluster forming in the centre of the target. “I said that I would protect you as both your regalia and as your friend.”

“And I appreciate the sentiment,” Sorey said as Mikleo plucked another arrow from the quiver. “I told you that I would protect you, too, remember?”

“So you're going to let me collect dust?” Mikleo muttered as he nocked the arrow.

“That's not my intention,” Sorey protested. Mikleo slowly drew the bowstring and readied his aim. “I just don't want to see you risk your life for mine either!” Sorey clutched at his chest, grasping his heart in the palm of his hand, and Mikleo drew the bowstring to the anchor point. “Your life is important, too, Mikleo! I don't care what the other gods say! You're not just a tool to be thrown away! I treasure you! You're important to me! Don't you get it?

“Mikleo, _I love you_.”

Sorey watched as Mikleo's eyes widened. His fingers slipped, loosening the arrow, and it flew, penetrating the wall next to the target. His bow clattered to the floor, and he snapped about face. Getting up from the floor, Sorey raced to Mikleo, grasping onto his hands and pulling the smaller boy into his embrace.

“I love you,” Sorey repeated. “That's the secret I couldn't tell you for so long. I've been in love with you the entire time. I'm still in love with you now. I love you, Mikleo. Please don't leave me. Stay by my side. I need you here with me.” He was babbling now; Sorey was aware that he was babbling now. Still, he held Mikleo closer, hiding the lukewarm drops of fear and panic and overflowing love from the silver haired regalia as they splashed onto his shoulder.

Mikleo didn't fight his embrace, didn't struggle, but he didn't return it either. Unlike before, his slender arms didn't wrap around Sorey. They didn't cradle the young god as though he was something precious, as though he was something fragile. Mikleo's palms pressed flat against Sorey's chest, and then he pushed with all the force he could muster in that moment. Sorey stumbled away from him; Mikleo hadn't intended to make him topple, only to gain distance.

Sorey noticed his expression shortly afterwards.

Everything came to him all at once: Mikleo's fear, his distress, his panic, and an inexplicable, crushing guilt that was, to Sorey in that very moment, obviously misplaced.

“Sorey, I… I _can't—_ ”

Then there was a stinging pain burning the back of his neck, and Sorey clutched it instinctively with a groan. Mikleo's eyes widened in panic, racing to his side with a shout, but Mikleo didn't know that the pain in his chest hurt more, only worsening when Mikleo kept apologising with tears streaming down his porcelain cheeks, reddened with shame and embarrassment, like pearl drops.

“I'm sorry, Sorey! I'm so, so sorry! I didn't mean to! I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!”

Mikleo had stung him.


	8. Under the Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three hundred years, and he could probably wait a little longer.

Mikleo had Sorey rushed to the nearest source of holy water as though he was lying on his deathbed, and the entire time, Sorey's beloved never once ceased to spill his tears. “It's okay, Mikleo,” Sorey coaxed his love after soaking his neck with holy water from Pendrago's Fountain of Wrath, an unfortunate name for a sacred wellspring.

Sorey reached out with a single hand, stroking Mikleo's silvery blue strands, dampening his hair. The young god lowered his hand, cupping the side of Mikleo's face, and his heart dropped to his stomach as he watched Mikleo avoid all eye contact with him. He wiped away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb and whispered, “I'm fine. I'm all right. Everything is okay, Mikleo.”

He wasn't sure how many times he had repeated that line to assuage Mikleo's worries. However, by the end of the day, he was tired and weary and his voice was hoarse. In the end, all he wanted was Mikleo by his side, but he had frightened Mikleo into the room across the corridor. Sorey never realised how unsettling it was to be in a room by himself. For the longest time, it had always been him and Mikleo. He couldn't even remember how to sleep by himself—like how he was before Mikleo.

Well, there weren't very many things he remembered before Mikleo came into his life.

That night wasn't at all silent. Even though Mikleo was across the corridor, Sorey could hear his sniffling, and an uneasy weight of the darkest emotions Sorey had ever felt settled atop his heart as though it meant to crush his chest completely. It wrecked the both of them like a merciless storm, raining sorrow and remorse and guilt— _guilt_? Sorey couldn't even begin to fathom why Mikleo would ever feel _guilty—_ until it left their minds in shambles.

Neither of them could sleep that night. Sorey knew because Mikleo was completely restless even though he tried—and oh, how he tried!—to oppress the unrelenting emotions surging in his heart for Sorey's sake. They were left to pick up the debris, trying to restore whatever state of mind they had before Sorey had confessed.

Oddly, he didn't regret it.

He could work through this. _They_ could work through this. Sorey knew that Mikleo wanted this settled just as much as he did. They've always been together; they've never been apart. A world without Mikleo terrified him. As long as Sorey breathed, he wouldn't let Mikleo go.

He wouldn't let three hundred years waste away.

In the morning, Sorey picked up a fresh set of clothes as well as a cloth towel and slipped out of Artorius' Throne. Venturing deeper into the surrounding forest, he hung his clothes over a tree branch and stripped himself bare before Sorey submerged himself in the sacred waters of the pond. His muscles relaxed at the welcoming coolness washing away the blight at the back of his neck. However, something ate at his chest, gnawing at his heartstrings, leaving behind a gaping hole to be filled, letting him know that Mikleo was still concerned over him.

He'll find me, Sorey thought to himself. He knows where I am.

Sorey didn't move an inch. He merely closed his eyes and waited and rested. The birds twittered around him, chirping a cheerful melody, accompanied by the soft murmur of rustling leaves blown by the wind. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the treetops, reflecting off the water's surface. Everything was still. Everything was calm. Everything would be okay. Sorey was sure of it, so he waited, resting, for Mikleo's arrival, surrounded by a birdsong.

Blades of grass, fallen leaves, broken twigs, crunched underfoot. Sorey cracked open an eye, smiling, as he gazed upon Mikleo's meek visage. The silvery blue haired teen still was not meeting his jade eyes, far too flustered and ashamed, and he held himself by the arm as though to make himself smaller in front of Sorey. Redness swelled around his eyes, and Sorey's heart ached. “Mikleo,” Sorey addressed him softly as he stretched out a hand, “come here.”

Fidgeting, Mikleo stepped back, retreating to a tree. Sorey felt his heart drop in disappointment at the prospect of Mikleo slipping away from him once again. However, it then fluttered excitedly, raising his hopes, as Mikleo removed his clothing and draped them over a branch as Sorey did. He approached the pond, accepting Sorey's hand, and lowered himself into the sacred waters.

Cupping the water into his hands, Sorey raised the sacred water over Mikleo's headand let it drizzle like rain onto his silvery blue tresses with a gentle smile. A few streams trickled down Mikleo's temple, rolling down his porcelain cheeks like tracks of tears, and Sorey gingerly caressed the side of Mikleo's visage. He observed, silently and patiently, as Mikleo raised his own hand. He hesitated for a moment, but then the smaller boy laid his palm flat against the back of Sorey's hand. Mikleo grasped onto Sorey's larger hand and, once again, hesitated—as if he wasn't sure what he was doing, as if he wasn't sure of what to do.

“You should exile me,” Mikleo whispered. His thumb traced swirls and circles on the back of Sorey's hand, lingering a little longer, reluctant to retreat and leave behind Sorey's touch. He laughed bitterly and muttered, “What kind of blessed regalia blights his master?” He huffed and added acerbically, “A lead regalia, at that.”

“You didn't mean it,” Sorey protested. He lowered his voice to match Mikleo's hushed tone as though he was speaking to a frightened animal. In a sense, Mikleo was cornered. Here, at their secret pond, there was no way for him to escape. “You were scared. It was my fault.” He smiled and added, “Besides, if I was to lose my lead regalia, where would I be?”

“With Lailah,” Mikleo murmured. “She would never blight you. I'm no better than Zaveid.” He scrunched up his nose at the thought, and Sorey couldn't help but laugh despite their situation.

“Zaveid isn't a bad guy,” Sorey replied.

“You're too lenient,” Mikleo chastised.

Sorey's smile never faltered as he acquiesced, “That's probably true.”

Mikleo rolled his eyes, and Sorey's heart skipped a beat as he watched a smile tug at the corners of Mikleo's lips, his hardened amethyst eyes softening and glimmering among the sunbeams. “It's not 'probably,'” Mikleo retorted. “You definitely are too lenient.” His smaller hand twitched slightly before Mikleo tightened his grip on Sorey's hand. “Why?”

“'Why?'” Sorey repeated, uncertainty laced in his voice.

“Why did you choose me?” Mikleo inquired. He paused and then added, “Why did you choose me to be your guidepost? A long time ago, Lailah said that… that you saw a future in me, one that she couldn't offer you.”

Mikleo tensed as Sorey leaned closer, but he didn't struggle, didn't push him away. He relaxed in Sorey's arms as the taller boy embraced him entirely, cradling his slender form, and rested his head against Sorey's shoulder. He closed his eyes as Sorey's fingers carded through his dampened hair, and his own heart beat ever faster upon feeling Sorey's own racing heart. Sorey pressed a gentle kiss, chaste and swift, against the top of his head and replied, “I saw a future with you in it.”

“Why me?” Mikleo whispered. “Why do you love me?”

“I couldn't imagine a life without you,” Sorey confessed, burying his face into Mikleo's hair. “Then it just… happened. I don't know how. I just want to be with you. I can't imagine a life without your witty comments or bantering with you or discussing archaeological finds with you or treasure hunting with you or hearing your voice or seeing your eyes—oh, gods, your eyes—or—”

“Okay,” Mikleo interrupted, and Sorey glanced down, finding his face completely reddened. That only made his grin wider. “Okay, I get it,” he mumbled, his voice a pitch too high. “You can stop.”

“You look really cute right now,” Sorey commented.

“Sorey!” Mikleo cried as his cheeks flushed into a deeper red. Instinctively, he shoved Sorey in retaliation for the remark, but Sorey only laughed, grasping onto Mikleo's wrist, as he toppled over, with Mikleo on top of him. Suspended on the water's surface, no space separated them, and Mikleo was much too aware of the intimacy of their position. Sorey could see the heat creeping up Mikleo's neck all too well, colouring his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Before Mikleo could splutter out an apology, Sorey's hand, still resting on the back of his head, pulled him forward and closed the distance between them.

Sorey could feel Mikleo's breath tremble against his lips as he brought them together. Mikleo stilled, his muscles tense, before he melted in his arms. His lithe fingers curled slightly against Sorey's chest as he relaxed against the brunet's touch. Shyly, he pressed a meek kiss against Sorey's lips in response and gasped in surprise as he felt Sorey's arms tighten around him. Mikleo shifted his arms, wrapping them around Sorey's neck, while the young god peppered his skin with chaste kisses. “Me too,” Mikleo whispered into Sorey's neck, right below his ear. “I don't want to be without you either, Sorey, but…”

“'But'?” Sorey repeated as he righted the two of them onto their feet. Nevertheless, his hold around Mikleo didn't falter. Their bodies pressed flushed against one another.

“I'm your regalia,” Mikleo answered, choking on a sob. “I can't… I can't…” _be with you_ “It's not right! I… I-I…” _failed you_ , _led you astray_ “You're not supposed to favour anyone!” _Certainly not me._ “You're a _god_ , Sorey. You love everyone and everything equally, and I… I'm…” _nothing special_ “I mean, I'm… I'm just your regalia—”

“You're my love, Mikleo,” Sorey protested. “I am a god, but I want to be more to you—a friend, a lover, a companion. I am a god, and my decisions are fair and just. You've always told me that. I'm allowed to live the way I want. I'm not just a puppet that operates on prayers. Doesn't that mean that I'm allowed to love you and treasure you?”

Mikleo laughed. “You just keep doing whatever you want,” the silver haired regalia remarked, resting his forehead against Sorey's shoulder. “It's messing me up.”

“But you'll still stay with me,” Sorey replied, “won't you?”

“I have no choice,” Mikleo quipped, slowly regaining his former demeanour and confidence, as a playful smirk began to dance onto his lips, “since you're useless without me. I promised, didn't I? I'll never leave you. I swore on my name.”

“I love you,” Sorey repeated, pressing another kiss atop his head.

Mikleo smiled. “I know.”

That was close enough for now, Sorey decided. They have all the time in the world. “So,” the brunet began as nonchalantly as he could, “will you marry me?”

Mikleo scoffed. “You're skipping way too many steps, Sorey.”

“It was worth a shot.” Besides, that didn't mean Mikleo was opposed to it. He'll just have to keep trying, to keep asking, and maybe one day Mikleo would say yes. After all, Mikleo certainly wasn't running away now.

* * *

“They're being weird,” Edna commented after Sorey nudged Mikleo lightly with his shoulder.

“Really? I don't see it,” Lailah replied once Mikleo responded to Sorey in kind.

“Nope, they're definitely being weird,” Edna retorted. Sorey was closer than usual, and his touch lingered longer than usual as well. Also, he never used to stand so closely while helping Meebo prepare breakfast. In fact, Sorey was often chased out of the kitchen by Meebo for trying to help. The kitchen was Meebo's territory, one he defended quite mercilessly. Not that Edna minded. She would never admit it aloud, but Meebo's desserts were pretty good—for a pitiable, feeble Meebo.

Of course Lailah wouldn't recognise it. She had been trying to pair them up for nearly two hundred years now. This was progress, but not progress enough for Lailah's liking.

Something happened between them, and Edna wasn't sure what. She didn't really want to know either, but she'd prefer not to gag before being served strawberry waffles.

“People in love do crazy things,” Zaveid remarked.

Lailah gasped, holding a hand to her lips to hide her gaping mouth, and cried in a whisper, “Do you think Sorey finally proposed?”

Edna rolled her eyes. “You're skipping way too many steps there,” the blonde quipped. “Did he even have the courage to confess his undying to Meebo?” The two of them had acted even more strangely last night. Neither of them uttered a single word to each other during dinner, and they avoided all eye contact, too—well, Meebo did. It was also common knowledge among the denizens of the entire Celestial Realm that Meebo and Sorey shared a room together in Artorius' Throne as well. (A matter that caused the other gods, namely Rose, to tease Sorey—though with Rose and Lord Zenrus it was more of a friendly joke.) However, that night, Meebo retreated into the room across the hall.

Edna couldn't say the same about Lailah, but she knew that Zaveid had also noticed. The older regalia wouldn't stop smirking even now. Maybe his face was stuck like that.

“Sorey!” Mikleo shrieked. His face was as bright as a tomato, and Sorey simply looked like a mischievous kid trying to steal from a cookie jar. Mikleo's hand held onto the side of his face, near the corner of his lips, and the pieces began to click together for the Shepherd's other three regalias.

“So…” Zaveid sang, grinning wolfishly at the two of them. “When's the wedding?”

“I was thinking late spring and early summer!” Sorey chirped at the same time as Mikleo's outcry, “Aren't you skipping too many steps?!”

“Oh my!” Lailah exclaimed. “I suppose congratulations are in order!”

“We're not getting married!” Mikleo groaned.

“Yet,” Sorey tacked on. “He means that we're not getting married yet. I'm still working on this 'courting' thing, so we are engaged to be engaged to be married.”

“Sorey!” Mikleo protested, his expression all at once incredulous, appalled, and flustered.

“What?” Sorey inquired curiously, genuinely baffled. “You didn't say no earlier.”

Mikleo palmed his forehead, obviously questioning his own decision making skills, and Edna snickered at his expense.Sorey laughed and pulled Mikleo's hand down, holding it in his own hands. Smiling warmly at the smaller boy, Sorey tilted his head to the side and inquired, “It's fine, isn't it? We're taking things slowly, right?”

“I'm not even sure if you understand the definition of 'slowly,'” Mikleo remarked. Returning Sorey's smile with a little smirk of his own, he commented, “But you can most certainly try.”

Edna gagged a little. “Stop being disgusting,” she mumbled. “Meebo, I'm _hungry_! Where's my food?”

Mikleo parted his lips, about to make a retort of his own, before his eyes widened in realisation. Hissing a curse under his breath, Mikleo pivoted on his heel and flipped the burnt waffles onto a plate. He scrunched up his nose in disdain as he poked at the char with a fork. Narrowing his eyes at Sorey, he snapped, “This one is yours.”

“What?! Why?” Sorey whined, pouting.

“It's your fault I burnt them,” Mikleo responded coolly as he poured more batter into the iron pan. He dusted confectioner's sugar atop Sorey's waffles before decorating them with a little bit more strawberries and whipped cream than usual. If it didn't mask the taste of the char, then Mikleo could at least say that he tried.

Once he finished with the others, Mikleo served them at the kitchen table, where everyone had taken to gathering. The dining hall was only ever used with guests, typically for formal occasions. Because their misfit family was too impatient to wait for Mikleo to traverse the halls and into the dining hall, they had another table moved into the kitchen with enough chairs for just the five of them. Since all of the chairs were taken from their own rooms, not only did it mismatch with the elegantly carved wooden table, but everyone also knew who would sit where.

“Thanks, Mikleo!” Sorey chirped from the head of the table, smiling even though he knew he had earned himself the worst of Mikleo's batch of waffles, as Mikleo set his plate in front of him.

“Thank you, Mikleo,” Lailah chimed once hers was served.

“Looks good, Mickey boy!” Zaveid praised, grinning widely with utensils in hand.

“Not bad for a mere Meebo,” Edna remarked the moment her plate touched the table's surface. She ignored how her stomach grumbled indignantly, waiting for the cue to start eating.

Mikleo sat to Sorey's right, next to Lailah and across from Edna, and the very moment he lowered himself into his seat, Sorey exclaimed, “Let's dig in!”

Sorey never once complained about the char, and Mikleo couldn't help but smile into his cup during the entire meal—at least until Edna kicked him underneath the table. He winced and scowled at her, snapping, “What was that for?!”

“You're making puppy eyes,” Edna replied.

“Well, I thought it was cute!” Lailah said, giggling behind her hand.

Mikleo flushed and protested, “I was not!”

“You most certainly were!” Zaveid argued. He turned his attention to Sorey and dragged the Shepherd into this mess as well, “Wasn't he, Sheps?”

Sorey smiled at Mikleo, and Edna rolled her eyes. Now there were two of them. Wonderful.

* * *

Mikleo raided their combined wardrobe for Sorey's ceremonial cloak while the young god flipped through the pages of the Celestial Record on their large bed. “Are you _sure_ that you left it in here?” Mikleo inquired, his voice a mixture of exasperation and scepticism.

It had been a year since the Shepherd had worn it, and Sorey only ever wore his ceremonial cloak to the festivals hosted by the gods. It was the only decent clothing he had since Sorey was always dressed from head to toe in traveller's garbs. No matter what Sorey would say, his hide cloak was _not_ ideal to wear in front of the other gods.

“Yes, I'm sure,” Sorey replied. “Mikleo, where else would I leave it?”

“On the floor,” Mikleo retorted. Finally reaching the bottom of the shelf, the silvery blue haired regalia caught a glimpse of snow white fabric. A victorious grin stretched across his lips as he pulled out the Shepherd's cloak and unfolded it, presenting it to Sorey. “Found it!”

“See, I _told_ you,” Sorey sang, meeting Mikleo's grin with his own.

“It's all crumpled though,” Mikleo griped. “Did you literally throw it into the closet and buried it with your other clothes? We'll need to get it pressed.”

Sorey pouted. “It's inconvenient for travelling, so I never wear it,” the brunet protested.

“Well, now you have reason to wear it,” Mikleo remarked as he flung the cloak towards Sorey. “Try it on and see if it can still fit around your shoulders. If not, I'll ask Lailah to tailor it for you.”

Sorey hummed in response. He marked the page he was on and then slipped the cloak over his head. Tugging on the fabric once, then twice, Sorey told Mikleo with a smile, “It still fits, so don't worry about getting it tailored!”

The brunet could feel his smile straining under Mikleo's scrutiny. “You're certain?” Mikleo inquired.

Sorey chuckled and replied, “I'm sure, Mikleo! It actually fits more than last time, you know?” Fiddling with the hem of the cloak, he said, “This cloak belonged to my predecessor. If it fit him as an adult, then it'll fit me. The other gods always told me that I had a lot of growing up to do, remember?” He pulled at the collar and commented, “I guess I'm literally fitting into my role.”

Mikleo rolled his eyes at the pun and replied more seriously, “It doesn't matter what the other gods try to make out of you. You're Sorey, and that's all that matters.”

Eyes of jade softened, and Sorey's smile returned with a new source of brightness. “Thank you, Mikleo,” Sorey responded.

“For what?” Mikleo answered. He crossed his arms and shifted his weight, tilting his head to the side. “I don't recall doing anything.”

“You know,” Sorey replied, “for saying what you did.” He scratched the back of his head and added, “For supporting me.”

“I'm only saying the truth,” Mikleo remarked. “You should just do what you think you should do—whatever you want, whatever you decide—and face it with that trademark sincerity and determination. Who cares what the other gods think?”

Sorey could name a few, but Mikleo had a point as well. Sorey was as much as the others' equal in the heavens. He had as much claim to his decisions and judgements as the other gods. He could choose for himself, speak for him, and carve his own path; he would do it together with Mikleo.

Pulling the Shepherd's cloak off, Sorey approached Mikleo slipped it over the smaller boy. He chuckled a bit upon seeing how loose it was around his lead regalia; Mikleo seemed to be drowning in the white fabric. Met with an unimpressed expression, Sorey quickly kissed the frown off his lips, earning himself a red hot blush instead, and grinned. “It looks good on you,” Sorey replied. “White looks good on you.”

“I told you already,” Mikleo replied, voice flat, “that this relationship is not progressing so quickly.” Mikleo was not planning on wearing any matrimonial robes any time soon.

And he definitely wasn't telling Sorey that his pout was cute.

* * *

Rose found Sorey and Mikleo across the ballroom of the Heavenly Palace. Another god of fertility had greeted the young Shepherd tonight, congratulating him on obtaining a blessed regalia, and from what Rose can discern, he was probably offering them his blessings—judging by how red and flustered Mikleo was becoming. Sorey, on the other hand, burst into laughter; his amusement rang clear within the vast ballroom, serving only to deepen the flush staining Mikleo's cheeks. Mikleo was hiding his face in his hands now, most likely aware of the lingering scarlet, and Sorey wrapped an arm around the regalia's waist as he excused himself from the older god.

Pawan wouldn't be the last god of fertility to offer them blessings and advice. They had already been visited by a goddess of love, a goddess of sexuality, and a goddess of motherhood. Rose hadn't even had the time to drop by and say hi because they were in the limelight due to Mikleo's new status—as a regalia and as a god's to-be betrothed. (Sorey's mistake was telling Zaveid who carried the message on the winds that blew throughout the entire Celestial Realm. Really, he was a gossip monger.) In fact, the two of them were getting more attention because of their relationship than Mikleo becoming a blessed regalia.

“Aren't they popular, Dezel?” Rose mused, nudging her guidepost playfully.

Dezel only scoffed quietly and tipped his hat in response.

Of course he thought the whole ordeal was ridiculous.

Rose would have agreed that everyone was making a big deal out of nothing, but, to be fair, the entire Celestial Realm had been waiting centuries for this day to come… Well, at least the gods and goddesses related to love were waiting for the two of them to get together—plus the entire village of Elysia, plus Rose and the Sparrowfeathers, plus… okay, the entire Celestial Realm.

After all, it was rather painful watching the great Shepherd, the slayer of dragons and bane of phantoms, pine after a pretty little flower like Mikleo.

Rose straightened her posture once she noticed that Sorey and Mikleo were approaching her. A devious smirk curved the contours of her lips, and she couldn't help but tease her old friend once they closed the distance between them, “Aren't you two looking pretty cosy?”

Sorey blinked and subconsciously brought Mikleo closer to his body, an arm wrapped around the smaller boy's waist. He was entirely obvious to the frown—not quite deep enough to be called a disapproving scowl—that his lead regalia wore. “What are you talking about, Rose?” Sorey inquired. For a moment, Rose wasn't sure whether he was serious or joking, but the bewilderment in Sorey's eyes was hard to feign.

Sighing, she shifted her weight and placed her hands on her hips before demanding, “What happened between the two of you?”

The way Mikleo's cheeks flushed was not at all suspicious, and like a hound on the hunt, Rose narrowed her sights on the regalia, stating blatantly, “You're blushing.”

“I am _not_!” Mikleo protested. “It's your imagination!”

Rose rolled her eyes. Crossing her arms, she rephrased her earlier question, “Okay, then what did that lecher Pawan say to you?”

She didn't even realise that it was possible for Mikleo to turn even redder than before. “He's just being his usual pervy self!” Mikleo replied quickly. “You don't need to worry about it!”

Sorey, however, held his chin in thought, contemplating what the God of Fertility had told them a few minutes earlier. “Well,” he began, only to wince when Mikleo elbowed him rather harshly. Sorey pouted at the pointed glare his lover—wow, Rose thought to herself, that's going to take some getting used to—gave him. “You have to admit that he said some pretty interesting things, Mikleo!” Sorey protested.

Mikleo massaged his temples. “Sorey,” the regalia replied at length, “he was simply spouting nonsense. You can't seriously be taking his drivel into consideration.”

“What? What?” Rose demanded as her blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. “I want to know!”

“The lecher said that, if the Shepherd offered him a prayer, he would try his damnedest to bless them with a child,” Dezel told her.

Mikleo gaped at him, face pale, with eyes that screamed, “Traitor!”

Rose, much like Sorey had earlier, burst with uncontrollable laughter, wild and raucous and unbecoming of a lady. “Your ears are as sharp as ever, Dezel!” she wheezed in between breaths. Wiping away a stray tear, Rose sighed and calmed herself after she noticed that they had attracted a few curious, if not condescending, glances. “He can't possibly do that, can he?”

“I was thinking that he'd send a stork our way,” Sorey chirped.

“Babies don't come out of nowhere,” Mikleo reprimanded. “Even if he's a god of fertility, he can't just make children appear out of thin air.” There were two problems Pawan had failed to realise. First, Mikleo's anatomy was completely male. Second, Mikleo was dead.

“The important question is,” Rose remarked, “if you would want a child. There _are_ gods who leave behind demigods to mark their place in the world. I've never thought the Shepherd would be one, considering that he has his heroic business laid out for him.”

Sorey hummed in thought and then replied, “I wouldn't mind raising a child with Mikleo. I mean, we're already a family—Mikleo, me, Lailah, Edna, Zaveid, and you guys, too, Rose, Dezel, and the rest of the Sparrowfeathers. The more the merrier, right? I think they'd be happy with us.”

Mikleo palmed his forehead. “You're skipping way too many steps, Sorey, and magically conceiving a child isn't even possible in the first place!”

Rose cackled at Mikleo's flustered state. She couldn't refrain from teasing the regalia, singing, “You're not saying 'no'!”

Sorey nodded his head in agreement and then pressed a loving kiss against Mikleo's temple as though that would ease the Sorey-and-Rose induced headache. Rose gagged, commenting, “You're so smitten that it's even more painful to watch, Sorey. Come on, Dezel. Let's greet Lord Zenrus before the geezer drinks the night away!” With that, the two of them left Sorey and Mikleo to their romance, and the other gods and goddesses took that as a cue to congratulate Sorey on either obtaining a blessed regalia or having his affections accepted and, maybe, returned.

A dark shadow fell over the two boys, and an ominous, eerie sensation overwhelmed them. Sorey's hold tightened around Mikleo's waist as he turned the two of them around, coming about face with a tall, flaxen haired man with a stern countenance seemingly made of steel. “Heldalf,” Sorey acknowledged calmly—or, rather, as calmly as possible.

“I congratulate you,” the war god stated, lifting his bearded chin, “for acquiring such a rare, exquisite weapon.” His eyes fell over Mikleo, studying him as though to search for defects, before he remarked, “It was clever of you to make him into your lover. After all, I can say from experience that it is better to keep your best weapons close. Speaking of which, how is Siegfried treating you?”

“You mean Zaveid,” Sorey replied almost tersely. “He is doing well. Thank you for your concern.”

“I am surprised he has not yet become a stray,” Heldalf mentioned nonchalantly, dismissive of Sorey's previous remark.

“Never once has his blade dulled,” Sorey insisted. “Zaveid is a man of his promises, and he is loyal to those whom he has found worthy of respect.” It was a silent jab in Heldalf's direction, and if the God of War had noticed it, then he had politely ignored it.

“Very well,” Heldalf acquiesced as he pulled away from the conversation amicably. “This is not the time or place for another one of our encounters. It would appear that we shall never agree, you and I. We are at opposite ends of the spectrum, indeed.” He retreated to another end of the ballroom with his regalia, a slight, pale girl with dark hair and eyes, following him at his heels.

“He gives me the creeps,” Mikleo mumbled. Holding onto Sorey's hand, he squeezed it in comfort and asked, “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Sorey replied. “I just never feel good after talking with him—if you can even call it talking.”

“Maybe not 'with him,'” Mikleo agreed. “Rather, the entire time, you were just talking _at_ each other.” He sighed and pulled on Sorey's hand, stepping out of his hold, and led him away from the Lord of Calamity. “Let's get something to eat, maybe something to drink, and lighten your mood. While we're here, we might as well enjoy the festivities—especially since we have work the next day.”

At the catering table, they met with Lailah and Edna, who piled their plates high with sweets and snacks. “Where's Zaveid?” Sorey asked the two girls.

Edna was quick to point him out in the crowd with her parasol. “He's flirting—and failing—again. Those ladies aren't even going to give him the time of day; they're goddesses. What a moron.”

When they followed her gaze, they found Zaveid, all dressed up in a suit (though in a rather slapdash manner) at Lailah's insistence, mingling with the goddesses. Every time he said something, they merely giggled in politeness.

Edna rolled her eyes and then stuffed her face with a strawberry macaron. “Meebo,” she said while she poked him in the side with her parasol, making him jump and start with every jab, “make these next time.”

“They're delicate pastries,” Mikleo warned. “Don't expect them to come out perfect the first time.”

“That's not a 'no,'” Edna confirmed.

Mikleo scoffed, and Sorey leaned closer, teasing his love, “You have to learn how to say no, Touchy-Feeleo.”

Narrowing his eyes at Sorey, Mikleo snapped, “See if you can be touchy-feely later after making that dumb nickname.”

Sorey only grinned in response in his threat before he chirped, “I know all of your weak spots, Mikleo!” Wiggling his fingers deviously, Mikleo's eyes widened at the implications, and, unfortunately, he did not jump away in time to evade Sorey's attacks. He burst into laughter, trying his best to guard his sides, as Sorey tickled him relentlessly.

Lailah giggled, covering her smile with her hand politely, while Edna snorted ungracefully. “Go get a room, you two,” she drawled.

Sorey retracted his hands, entirely obvious to the stares watching them, and pulled Mikleo away from the girls the moment an idea hit him. “Come on, Mikleo! I have something to show you!” he exclaimed while the young Shepherd laced their fingers together.

He raced towards the ballroom doors with Mikleo trailing behind him. The faces around them turned into an indistinguishable blur, and the hushed whispers about them didn't even have the chance to ghost upon their ears. Sorey pushed through the doors and nearly flew down the stairs of the Heavenly Palace. “Sorey, where are we going?” Mikleo inquired as he picked up his pace in order to keep up with Sorey's longer strides.

“You'll see!” Sorey replied, grinning ear to ear. They slipped out of the Heavenly Palace and circled around to the garden, where Sorey slowed his momentum considerably. He watched as Mikleo studied the flowers and herbs planted about them in colourful arrangements that glowed underneath tonight's full moon. Smiling softly, Sorey questioned, “You like them?”

Mikleo, wearing an expression Sorey knew too well as fascination, nodded quietly. He knelt in front of a bed of lilies, brushing his forefinger against the petals, and replied, “They're beautiful.”

Sorey gulped, but his smile never faltered. “Yeah,” he agreed with Mikleo although the subject of his observations did not include only the flowers, “they are.” When Mikleo angled his head to turn his attention onto Sorey, the young god held out his arm for Mikleo to take. Quietly accepting his offer, Mikleo was pulled back onto his feet. “Come on, it's this way!” Sorey chirped.

The two of them strolled quietly within the garden. Mikleo never once pulled his eyes away from the flowers, pointing out one species after another, listing to Sorey their medicinal properties if they had any. Otherwise, he would blatantly warn Sorey if one particular flower was poisonous to ingest although beautiful. Sorey listened attentively if not just to hear his beloved speak.

Eventually, they reached the balcony of the garden, overlooking a vast body of water that reflected the stars in the night sky. Mikleo gaped at the sight and detached himself from Sorey. He pressed his palms against the edge of the stone balcony, amethyst eyes glistening with the sparkling waters. Sorey smiled and stood beside Mikleo, crossing his arms against the railing, as he leaned forward. He kept his eyes transfixed on the thin line of the horizon, hardly discernible between the stars in the sky and the stars on the water, as he said, “That's the Divine River. Pretty cool, huh?”

Mikleo huffed lightly, but the excitement in his voice was difficult for him to conceal as he retorted, “'Cool' doesn't even begin to cover it!” He nudged Sorey playfully and remarked, “I can't believe you were keeping a place like this to yourself!”

“I can't really help it!” Sorey protested. “I mean, the Emperor of the Heavens only opens up his palace once a year for this festival. If I could, I would have soon this to you sooner.”

Mikleo hummed and replied, “Well then, I guess you're forgiven.”

The two of them bathed under the moonlight, quietly picking apart constellations and retelling old legends. Gradually, Sorey came to wrap an arm around Mikleo's waist, and Mikleo eventually relaxed against Sorey's chest. Before long, they were sitting on a nearby bench. Mikleo's head laid atop Sorey's shoulder, and Sorey's head rested on top of Mikleo's.

“You know, Mikleo…” Sorey began, gripping his loved one's hand and tracing patterns on the back of Mikleo's hand with his thumb. “I really do want to make you happy. When we first met, I made a promise to myself that I would keep you safe, protect you, and make you happy.”

He fished through his pockets with his free hand until his fingers brushed over a thin metallic chain. Pulling the necklace from his pocket, he held it in front of them. Dangling from the silver chain was a thin band, seemingly platinum, with Sorey's name engraved within the ancient tongue on the inside, and hanging beside it was an orange feather matching the ones Sorey always wore. Mikleo's eyes widened, gaping in astonishment, and Sorey chuckled nervously.

Unable to wrench his hand free from Mikleo's hold to scratch the back of his head, Sorey persevered, saying, “I know it's probably too early to do this, so you don't have to wear it or anything! It's just—I don't know—I wanted you to have it. I had the ring forged for you, but it's probably too heavy for you to wear it right now since everything's so new and it's only been two weeks even though we've known each other for three hundred years—”

“Sorey,” Mikleo interrupted. A lovely pink coated his fair cheeks. “Help me put it on.”

Sorey gulped and nodded his head. He undid the clasp and strung the metal around Mikleo's slender neck before hooking it and letting it fall between the silvery blue haired boy's collarbones. “I wanted to wait to propose to you formally,” Sorey admitted, “but I couldn't… I couldn't wait.” He grasped Mikleo's hands in his own and pressed a kiss against his nimble fingers. “I love you. I want everyone to know that I'm in love with you.”

“Sorey,” Mikleo began uncertainly. His gaze strayed from Sorey's, but the pink on his cheeks only darkened to a beautiful scarlet. Gathering the words he wanted to say and the courage he needed to say them, Mikleo asked, “Do you remember the night we fought the drake?”

Sorey's smile faltered, and his heart ached. “How could I forget?” _I almost lost you_.

“There was something I promised you,” Mikleo recalled, “something I said I would tell you if I remembered.”

Sorey nodded. “I remember.”

“I was thinking that night,” Mikleo explained, “about you.”

It was Sorey's turn to flush in embarrassment, and Mikleo couldn't help but grin almost deviously at the sight. “M-Me?” he spluttered. “What about me?”

“You were different,” Mikleo answered with a subtle smile. “You were acting differently—keeping secrets from me and all. I thought you were trying to do everything yourself again. I didn't want that. I don't like it when you shoulder the burden by yourself. You have friends to support you, you know? You're not alone. Sorey, do you know what makes me happy?”

Sorey hummed and replied, “Ruins, treasure, ice cream, books, flowers, stars…”

Mikleo laughed. “And there's always someone there with me; you're always there with me—when we're exploring and treasure hunting and eating ice cream and reading books. You're here with me now, among the flowers, underneath the stars. I'm happiest with you, Sorey.” He leaned forward, paused for a shy moment, and pressed a kiss against Sorey's lips, fleeting and chaste.

“I love you.”

Mikleo's eyes widened before he reached forward and cupped Sorey's face in his hands, wiping away the brunet's tears with the pads of his thumbs. A fond smile crossed his lips as Sorey held onto his hands, refusing to let Mikleo go. The regalia laughed at the sight of Sorey's tear-stained grin. “Pick one expression!” Mikleo teased after he brushed away another stray tear.

Sorey shook his head, words betraying him, before he tilted his head, pressing a kiss against Mikleo's fingers. “You don't know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that,” Sorey croaked out before he lost his voice once again. The brunet dropped his head against Mikleo's shoulder, laughing softly to himself, delirious with euphoria. “I've been waiting for so long. 'Happy' doesn't even begin to cover what I'm feeling!” Sorey laced their fingers together, holding onto Mikleo's hands without any intention of letting go. “I love you, Mikleo,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Mikleo replied mischievously in a voice soft as a whisper, “I know.”

Sorey laughed and pulled Mikleo toward his body, releasing his hold on Mikleo's hands only to circle around the small of Mikleo's back. “You're such a tease,” Sorey muttered. He buried his face between Mikleo's neck and shoulder.

Mikleo returned the embrace, reaching up and patting Sorey's back in quasi-comfort. “Well,” the silvery blue haired teen began, “how about we head home?”

Sorey hummed an agreement, but he didn't make any move to dislodge them from their position. Mikleo sighed, an exasperated smile on his lips, as he rested his head against Sorey's shoulder. It was fine to remain this way for a little longer. After all, they weren't in any rush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have been inspired by Final Fantasy X. I might have been listening to _Suteki de ne?_ when I was writing the first scene.
> 
> I meant to get this out much earlier, but life. What can you do? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
>  ~~I was also supposed to be studying for my exams. Oops!~~


	9. The Future Unfolds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With time, countries change, civilisations change, people change, and then there's the two of them.

A slender young man stood in front of the oldest inn of Marlind. Silvery blue hair framed his delicate visage, and glittering amethyst eyes skimmed over the text on the screen of his smartphone. He stood, dressed properly and primly in a white wool cape with a hood lined with soft silvery grey fur and a black long-sleeved, cable knit sweater, A dark blue scarf was wrapped snugly around his neck, and a pair of light washed grey jeans hugged his lithe legs, held upright by a white belt, while a pair of white boots were laced up to his knees. He locked his phone, stowing it away in the back pocket of his jeans, and pulled his black leather glove back onto his right hand.

“Hey,” someone greeted him from behind. He glanced over his shoulder and found himself face-to-face with a bright eyed youth. Judging by the uniform pants and the insignia sewn onto his blazer, he must have been a schoolboy—maybe seventeen years old. There was something about him that was familiar—like the kindness in his voice or the redness of his hair. “Waiting for someone?”

“Yeah,” he answered, “my date.”

The schoolboy's expression fell in blatant disappointment, and he would have felt a little guilty if the kid hadn't rebounded so quickly. “I should have known you weren't single,” he chirped as though he wasn't the slightest bit heartbroken. “Your girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

Quietly, the older boy pulled off the glove on his left hand, displaying the platinum band circling his ring finger, and replied with a subtle smile, “My fiancé.”

The schoolboy whistled, obviously impressed, and congratulated him. “You don't look a day over eighteen though—not that I'm against marrying young or anything,” he remarked. The silvery blue haired young man rolled his amethyst eyes, and his comment (“If only you knew”) died on his tongue. Without further ado, the schoolboy picked up the pace of the conversation and asked, “So what are you going to do on your date? Dinner and a movie?”

The older of the pair raised a brow. He couldn't help but wonder why this kid was still talking to him even though he was obviously shot down. “No, actually,” the violet eyed beauty answered, nevertheless, as he pulled his glove back onto his hand, “we're going to a museum. There's a special exhibition for the month, and we wanted to go before it closed.”

“Interesting,” replied the schoolboy, bouncing on the heels of his shoes. “You mean the Dumnonia Museum? I heard it was an abandoned art museum in the past, but now it's really one of Marlind's greatest tourist attractions aside from the Great Tree.”

“Yes, we're heading to the Dumnonia Museum,” the older male affirmed. It's been a personal favourite of theirs for the past several years. “They've excavated some artefacts from the ruins they've found in Glaivend Basin.”

“So he's a history buff,” the schoolboy concluded.

Before the schoolboy could receive a response, someone cried out, “Mikleo!”

Neither of them had the chance to bat an eye before a man over twenty years of age swept Mikleo off his feet and into his arms, ignoring the loud protest (“ _Sorey_!”) and spinning his slender lover around in circles. His long, chestnut brown hair was pulled into a ponytail by an elastic band decorated with orange feathers matching his earrings, and his jade green eyes glowed with delight upon hearing the soft, quiet chuckle dance past Mikleo's lips. Endless strings of apologies spewed past his lips, and Mikleo couldn't help but roll his eyes at his lover as he replaced Mikleo onto the ground. Knowing there was no room for him to stay and chat, the schoolboy chuckled and waved goodbye, leaving the two to their date.

Sorey grinned and asked, “Did you make a new friend?”

“Kind of,” Mikleo answered. “I didn't get his name, but he reminds me of—”

“Mason,” Sorey finished. “It feels like that's his soul.”

Mikleo hummed. “So he was reborn.”

Sorey nodded his head and chirped, “That's good for him. I'm sure Margaret would be thrilled. Who knows? Maybe one day he'll be reunited with Natalie.”

“That'll be a couple years from now,” Mikleo replied. Nobody commented on the understatement. “We can worry about that later.”

“Yup!” Sorey chirped. He laced their fingers together and stuffed their hands into his brown peacoat so that they could stick together closer.

Mikleo raised his head, glancing at his lover, and rolled his eyes at Sorey. “Since when did you get so cunning?” he inquired, shoving Sorey lightly. He didn't manage much, only able to make Sorey sway on his feet, but it was enough to make Sorey laugh.

“You made me this way,” Sorey accused playfully. “It's your fault, Mikleo!”

“How?” Mikleo demanded as he pushed Sorey gently once again. Like before, Sorey didn't even stumble. “I've done absolutely nothing.”

“And it's infuriating,” Sorey remarked.

“Oh, big word,” Mikleo teased.

Sorey leaned closer, pecking the top of Mikleo's head, and smiled at the smaller boy's disgruntled expression. Recently, Sorey's been waving the height difference in Mikleo's face; he had managed to grow ten centimetres over the past two centuries while Mikleo is the same as ever. Now there was exactly a twenty centimetre difference between their heights, and Mikleo was not entirely thrilled with how he had to strain himself to kiss his lover.

“It really is your fault, you know?” Sorey insisted.

“Again, I fail to see how,” Mikleo replied curtly.

Sorey smiled, tightening his hold on Mikleo's gloved hand, and replied, “I just want to be closer to you. Five hundred years still isn't enough.”

Mikleo rolled his eyes and replied, “With you, nothing is ever enough.” He glanced at Sorey, frowning when he noticed a cut on his cheek, and mentioned, “You were late.”

Sorey hummed, stroking the back of Mikleo's hand with his thumb, and asked, “Were you worried?”

“We're talking about _you_ here,” Mikleo retorted with a little huff. His cheeks warmed as he mumbled, “Of course I was worried, you idiot.”

“Well,” Sorey began sheepishly with a nervous chuckle, “the purification went as smoothly as you can expect.” He scratched the back of his neck as he tried to figure out how to explain to Mikleo that nothing particularly disastrous happened. “Lailah and I got out most of it unscathed—just a few scratches. The phantoms sure didn't make it easy on us though.”

“I noticed,” Mikleo replied dryly. “That giant worm was practically bigger than Rayfalke Spiritcrest. It was a good thing that we set up barriers in place so that the humans didn't see your epic battle.”

Sorey chuckled and asked Mikleo, “Did Edna and Zaveid give you a hard time?”

“Not really,” Mikleo replied. “I might be younger than them, but they acknowledged that I was the lead regalia. We took care of the neighbourhood promptly and properly.” His fingers clenched against Sorey's momentarily without his knowing, and once he caught himself, Mikleo's cheeks reddened. He loosened his grip and muttered an apology. “It's just… I should have been there,” Mikleo mumbled uncertainly. “I'm your lead regalia and a blessed regalia, but I couldn't do anything for you. I wonder why I'm a bow when you're so much more suited for close combat.”

“That's not true,” Sorey protested as he held onto Mikleo's hand more tightly. “You're perfect. I trust you and your decisions. Even if I can't use you in battles all the time, you're always there for me.” Smiling softly at Mikleo, he said, “Trust me on this.”

Mikleo nodded quietly, and, returning Sorey's grip, he replied, “Just be careful. Heldalf still has it out for you.” His amethyst eyes hardened at the thought. “Why can't he just leave us alone?”

“You can't get rid of him,” Sorey stated.

His words weren't a warning trying to deter Mikleo from taking action recklessly or anything of the sort even though they both knew that Mikleo would do anything to ensure Sorey's safety. (The same could be said, however, about Sorey trying to protect Mikleo.) Instead, it was simply a painful reminder of a fact; Heldalf was a war god birthed from prayers as well. There were people who needed him, a Lord of Calamity, for reasons Sorey could not always fathom. They were opposing forces, destined to clash time again and again, over and over again, and neither party could do anything about it. Their conflict was merely nature at work.

Still, rather than butting heads, it would seem that Heldalf intended to stand in Sorey's path within the last few centuries. Rather than meeting coincidentally or inevitably, Heldalf appeared to go out of his way to be a thorn in the Shepherd's side. To Mikleo, the matter was more than concerning or alarming. Disregarding Edna's slurs against the war god, whom she found little and petty, Heldalf was a seasoned warrior, and he certainly had more experience than Sorey in a battle. Zaveid, who used to be in his services, could vouch for the Lord of Calamity's strength and prowess.

“I'm probably too different from my predecessors,” Sorey concluded. “That's why he's interested in my business.” Sorey figured it was either that or the fact that Mikleo was his blessed regalia. If Heldalf planned on obtaining Mikleo to complete his arsenal, then he would be sorely disappointed. Sorey's grip tightened around Mikleo's hand at the prospect. The two of them made a promise. Sorey wouldn't let go, and Mikleo wouldn't leave.

“Sorey is Sorey,” Mikleo remarked. “It's not a requirement for you to be like your predecessors. In fact, I would rather you not.” His eyes softened, and his tongue dulled its sharp edge. “I prefer you here with me.”

No matter how many years had passed, Sorey could still feel his heart flutter in his chest at Mikleo's words. Beaming at Mikleo with a pearly white smile, Sorey chirped, “Thanks, Mikleo.” Slipping their hands from his pocket, Sorey freely swung their hands back and forth—much to Mikleo's chagrin. The silvery blue haired regalia spluttered his protests as they garnered more attention from the curious onlookers, but Sorey would have none of it. He merely laughed and said, “Let's not think about Heldalf! We finally have time to ourselves! No massive phantoms, no urgent prayers, no Lailah, Edna, or Zaveid—no Heldalf or his cronies! Let's relax and enjoy ourselves!”

Mikleo flushed red as he replied hurriedly, “Okay, okay! I get it! I get it already! Calm down, Sorey!” Despite himself, he giggled quietly when Sorey pulled him along in a light jog towards the direction of the Dumnonia Museum.

There. they paid their fees and weaved through the galleries. They stopped in front of paintings and sculptures for lengthy discussions and debates over the art subjects and the era during which the masterpiece was crafted. Eventually, they arrived in front of a vast mural occupying most of the wall depicting the Shepherd sitting upon what mortals commonly perceived to be Artorius' Throne.

Rather than a large temple the size of a palace, Artorious' Throne was a regal chaise sculpted out of precious gold and cushioned with plush velvet. It sat on top of a platform laid with a rich, crimson carpet, and surrounding him were luxurious, silk draperies. Resting against the side of his throne was his sacred sword, which was portrayed as a heavy, two-handed great-sword made of shining silver and gold with precious gems embedded within the hilt.

“This is definitely Romanticism,” Mikleo remarked as he crossed his arms. He stared into the cobalt eyes of the painted Shepherd and added, “It's all sorts of over-the-top, meant to strike awe and fear from the admirer.”

“I don't look like that, do I?” Sorey inquired as he studied the painted visage.

“Unless you've somehow managed to change your eye colour, then no,” Mikleo replied with a smile. “You're not a blond either, and your ceremonial cloak isn't that long. Plus, Fethmus Mioma isn't anywhere near that large.”

“He looks kind of lonely,” Sorey commented. “They got that wrong, too.” Beaming at Mikleo, he said, “I have you with me.”

Mikleo flushed again in embarrassment. “Don't be ridiculous, Sorey,” he muttered as he turned away to hide his flustered state. Automatically, Sorey reached for Mikleo's hand, but he only managed to tug on the fabric of the silvery blue haired regalia's glove. The brunet grasped at it before the black glove could flutter downwards to the floor, but then he caught sight of the bare left hand Mikleo tried to hide from his sight. More specifically, he caught a glimpse of the glimmering platinum band wrapped around Mikleo's third finger—the very same one engraved with Sorey's name in the ancient tongue.

Embarrassment crept up the back of Mikleo's neck as he turned away from Sorey, staining the tips of his ears and—although Sorey couldn't see—his cheeks. Remembering Mikleo's words all those years and decades and centuries ago, the brunet couldn't prevent a grin from stretching across his lips. He approached his lover from behind, wrapping his arms around Mikleo's middle, and traced his fingers against the platinum band adorning Mikleo's finger, his fiancé's— _fiancé_ , after all of this time, finally his _fiancé—_ finger.

“Since when did you start wearing it around your finger?” Sorey whispered quietly, bending his head down ever so slightly so that his breath ghosted the shell of Mikleo's ear.

The smaller boy suppressed the tremors running down his spine and muttered, “Just this morning. I wanted to tell you in a better way.”

“The humans are going to need a new legend now,” Sorey mused before he pressed a chaste kiss against the crown of Mikleo's head. “The Shepherd and His Consort. No longer will he be painted alone in murals; a beautiful spirit will stay by his side—forever more.”

“How are you going to do that?” Mikleo inquired as he relaxed against Sorey's chest.

“I'll leave that to the Storyteller since he would definitely be invited to the wedding. I'm sure Mayvin can come up with something,” Sorey replied while he busied himself with lacing their fingers together. “Thank you, Mikleo.”

“For what?”

“Nothing,” Sorey answered with a tender smile. “Let's go shopping later. I think they still sell traditional wedding robes here. If not, we'll have to check Ladylake or Lastonbell or Pendrago.”

“We still have three galleries to browse,” Mikleo reminded, angling his head ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of his beloved's jade green eyes. His heart fluttered in his chest upon noticing how softly, how tenderly, they gazed upon him, and Mikleo couldn't help but flush at the sight. He lowered his gaze to the ground, awkwardly averting his gaze, so that Sorey wouldn't notice his embarrassment. “Let's take things one at a time, Sorey. There's no need to rush.”

Sorey lifted Mikleo's hand, pressing a kiss against his knuckles, and replied, “Right, we have all the time in the world.”

If he had waited three hundred years to court Mikleo and another two hundred years in their engagement to be engaged, then Sorey could wait another five hundred years for their wedding. He wanted Mikleo. It had always been that way for the past five hundred years, and he wouldn't expect it to be any different in the future. As long as Mikleo was by his side, then everything would be fine, and he would make sure of it.

The soft rumble of footsteps reached Sorey's ears, and the two of them disentangled themselves from one another before the museum curator and her spectators could steal a glimpse of them. Just as the crowd slipped into the same gallery, Sorey was already pulling his lover out of sight. The door closed behind them with a muted thud, bringing no attention to the two of them. Mikleo laughed quietly as Sorey led them into a hall of impressionist works. There were a few other guests paired up in front of paintings, admiring the artwork, as well, and once again, Mikleo and Sorey found themselves partaking in the same activities—if not a little closer than before.

Eventually, they exited the museum hand-in-hand, side-by-side, in a serene silence. Lailah didn't flit about them like a mother hen. Zaveid wasn't there to make any crude comments. Edna, in particular, was absent, and Mikleo did not in any way miss her taunts. Two centuries did nothing to ease the bite in her bark; however, the time they spent together shed light upon the friendly, albeit teasing, nature of her snide remarks. Strolling into the park that was now surrounded by little cafés and bakeries, they gave their greetings to Rohan, Guardian of the Great Tree.

However, before they could leave the park, a dog rushed towards them, barking wildly. Mikleo was quick to hide behind Sorey, warily eyeing the four legged creature. Under normal circumstances, the brunet would have chuckled at Mikleo's reaction, but, sensing that something was terribly wrong, Sorey tensed and shielded his lover, ready to call his name should something unsightly arise. Rohan, a distance away, could be seen beckoning one of his own regalias closer and arranging for a barrier to enclose the park in order not to disturb the human visitors. The dog as well faded out of sight, and only the Shepherd, his four regalias, and their uninvited guests were left into the fabricated space.

In the distance, Sorey could see three forms approaching, and he had a good idea of who they might be. As they got closer in pursuit of the dog, Sorey immediately called their names, “Come, Hephsin Yulind, Wirukun Zavie, Fethmus Mioma!” A pair of leather gloves materialised onto Sorey's hands, which gripped a short sword in his left and a long sword in his right, as his eyes flickered around him, trying his best to locate the source of the dog's distress.

“What's going on?” he asked his three regalias. “I thought we bested the worm.” In theory, there shouldn't have been any more phantoms arising in the scholarly city of Marlind.

“There's someone attracting them like parasites,” Zaveid replied, spitting out his bitterness and frustration. “We figured that if there was the three of us, then we could perform a purification ceremony and get it over with. Just when we lost it, this dog picked up the scent and started leading us around. Looks like thanks to old man Rohan, we managed to corner it.”

Sorey glanced behind him and noticed that Rohan was out of sight. The older god must have been outside the barrier he had arranged in order to maintain it, and he couldn't help the relief that surged through his body. Rohan was not a combatant god, after all, so he would be better off trying to provide outside support.

“Why didn't you come get us?” Sorey inquired his other regalias. He felt Mikleo shift around, pulling away his fingers, as he readied his battle stance. Their backs were pressed against one another, and Sorey relaxed slightly at the comfort their position brought him.

“Because,” Edna answered, “we knew that Meebo wouldn't propose if we didn't leave him alone. He gets embarrassed easily, you know.”

Mikleo grumbled something under his breath, and Sorey was sure that his lover flushed red.

From the thrumming sensation Fethmus Mioma radiated, Sorey could feel Lailah's excitement surge through the metal of her blade. Despite the situation, he grinned sheepishly, wondering if he would come to regret his question, but asked her, nevertheless, “Yes, Lailah?”

“Did Mikleo propose?” Lailah whispered quietly.

Sorey cast a glance towards Mikleo, who hadn't seemed to overhear their conversation. If he did, then the silvery blue haired regalia didn't comment on the exchange. Before Sorey could answer Lailah as quietly as he could, the brunet spotted movement out of the corner of his eye.

Just as he was about to guard against the oncoming attack, Mikleo had already struck a boundary through the air—right in the nick of time. Sorey scowled upon spotting a familiar fox-like visage grinning deviously at the two of them, cackling deviously and wildly in either a bout of insanity or amusement. Multitudes of names ran through his head before he gave up trying to pinpoint one name to refer to their assailant.

“Stray!” Sorey snapped as the lanky spirit (could he even be considered a regalia?) landed back onto his feet, using the boundary as a wall to repel himself away from the brunet and his lover. He twirled Wirukun Zavie in his left hand, reversing the grip, and braced himself for another oncoming attack should the stray attempt to break through the barrier. Sorey narrowed his eyes into a glower at the cackling spirit and demanded, “Are you the one who caused the rampage earlier?”

A malicious sneer spread itself across the spirit's thin lips, unveiling the pointed teeth and razor sharp canines of his grin, as he jeered, “Who knows? There aren't any witnesses around, are there?”

Sorey frowned. “Under whose orders are you working?” he inquired.

The spirit tugged at the collar of his shirt, pulling down the fabric, to reveal the numerous names branded on his torso. “That's a good question, Shepherd,” answered the stray. Never once did the mirth fade from his visage, and he only seemed to delight in the repulsed gasp that had slipped past Lailah's lips. “There are quite a few war gods who want you out of their way.”

“It's my duty to quell the malevolence in this world,” Sorey replied shortly. “I'm afraid there's no way I can leave the phantoms alone to possess humans and drive them to depravity. That being said, I can't ignore whoever sent you either. I hope you understand.”

It was a poor move on the stray's part to reveal even one name to Sorey and Mikleo. Perhaps he didn't realise it, but it was already too late for the devious spirit.

Sorey glanced at his partner, and after catching his eye, Mikleo nodded in affirmation. Stretching out his hand with his palm facing the fox-like spirit, the silvery blue haired regalia declared, “Restraint!” with one of the many names branded onto the stray's flesh in mind. A few seconds later, the stray fell to his knees as he was dragged to the ground by the invisible chains strapped onto his limbs. He ground his teeth, growling at Mikleo, as the Shepherd's blessed regalia cast another spell, “Resound!”

The truth spewed from his lips, unable to contain itself, under the higher authority present. Vehemence and hate glowed in his beady eyes as he seethed through clenched teeth, “The Lord of Calamity had received a prayer for a reason Hyland can use to declare war against the Rolance Empire. He used me to attract phantoms to Marlind, and the disasters that would arise would subsequently be blamed upon the Rolance Empire. Then you showed up, and since you were in his way, my orders extended to include distracting you.

“Still, know this, Shepherd,” the stray continued haughtily even though he was under the influence of Mikleo's truth seeking spell, “I am loyal to no one. I am but a stray. I die neither for you nor for Heldalf. I live only for myself. I am not a fool, and I am well aware that I am nothing against a god. I could barely last as a distraction, see? I suppose this goes to prove the might of blessed regalias.” At that comment, the stray gave Mikleo a withering stare that was accompanied by a wry twist of his lips. “After this little show, I would gladly abandon Heldalf's orders and run with my tail between my legs.”

“Given the circumstances,” Edna remarked caustically, “I highly doubt that—and his sanity.”

Mikleo ignored Edna's comment and narrowed his violet eyes at the stray, another spell teetering at the tip of his tongue, but when he spoke, the silvery blue haired young man merely questioned, “Is this a plea for your life?”

“I offer you my services,” the stray answered as a charming smirk carved itself onto his lips.

“How surprising,” Zaveid mused dryly. Sorey and Mikleo could envision the older man rolling his eyes. “From the welcoming party, I would have never guessed.”

Lailah added sombrely, “Best to be on your guard, Sorey, Mikleo.”

An acerbic smile bled into a wry smirk before the stray stretched out his arms as though to prove that he had nothing to hide from the god in front of him. “You don't trust me? After all, I am a stray.”

“He keeps on saying 'stray,' 'stray,' 'I'm a stray,'” Edna grumbled. “Does he really think that Sorey is bothered by 'strays'?”

That bit was true. Sorey had been pleasant and civil to everyone he had ever met as long as they didn't exchange blows first. Much to the disapproval of other gods, Sorey had occasionally dealt with strays, such as the mercenary group known as The Woodsmen. It was the character that mattered, Sorey had insisted. As for this character in front of them, it can be said that Sorey didn't approve of him very much, and that was an understatement.

“Even a blind man can see what set off the hostility was how he declared outright that his loyalties lie with no one,” Edna griped.

“Why would you want Sorey to grant you a name?” Mikleo spat, disregarding Edna's seething disdain for the moment. “You already have so many.”

“Security,” the stray responded curtly as though that alone would suffice for a response. He didn't so much look at Mikleo's way, ignoring the regalia and focusing instead on the god, acting as though it was Sorey who had spoken. When none in the Shepherd's party reacted, he brought himself to clarify, “I like insurance, Shepherd. Everyone knows the big rivalry between you and the Lord of Calamity. At this point, I'm not sure who the winning side is. Should one of you fall, I'd like to be standing. Whoever is the victor of your feud is of little concern to me.”

Sorey frowned and replied, “Heldalf and I will always be at opposite ends of a pole. There will be no way to rid each other of one another. There will never be an end to this farce.” After nodding towards Mikleo, the blessed regalia lowered his spells, releasing the stray from his captivity. “Hurry and leave. Tell Heldalf that, as long as he brings harm to humans either directly or indirectly, I will always interfere with his work. Try to pull anything, and I won't be so lenient next time.”

As though Rohan sensed Sorey's final judgement upon the stray from the outside, the barrier lifted. Snarling at the god before him, the stray bore his fangs, but before Mikleo could lash him with another spell in defence of his lover, Sorey held him back with a single arm laid out in front of the smaller, slighter young man. Sorey could have silently told Mikleo that this stray was not worth it, or he could have been acting as a physical barricade between the two spirits so that Mikleo would not have been struck in the front-lines of battle. Nevertheless, the stray pivoted on his heel and retreated into the shadows.

“Revert, Lailah,” Sorey began his familiar chant. “Revert, Zaveid. Revert, Edna.”

Once his three regalias were back in their human forms, the Guardian of the Great Tree approached the five of them. “Was that a wise decision?” Rohan inquired. His eyes lingered on the shadows into which the stray had disappeared.

“Sorey is a kind, benevolent god,” Lailah replied with a warm smile.

“Don't forget forgiving,” Zaveid mentioned, patting Sorey on the shoulder. The two of them were nearly the same height now; the older regalia was only a measly two centimetres taller than Sorey. “Still, I wouldn't have let him go,” Zaveid said, frowning slightly. “That guy… wasn't the noble sort—and not because he was a stray.”

“I don't think anyone could have missed the rotten stench of dirt and scum,” Edna remarked.

Rohan frowned and replied, “Nevertheless, what you had just done was akin to slapping him on the wrist as you would admonish a child.” He doubted that events wouldn't repeat themselves—maybe not soon, but definitely sometime in the future.

“Isn't it fine?” Sorey insisted with a shrug. “We let him off with a warning, and if it happens again, then he's out of second chances to redeem himself. He might be a stray, but he's still a regalia—no matter how sleazy he is. All the gods who have given him a name would be affected by his death, whether he meant something to them or not. I wouldn't want to wish pain onto anyone.”

Mikleo rolled his eyes and nudged Sorey slightly in the ribs with his elbow, and the brunet winced upon feeling the bony joint digging into his flesh. Mikleo simply stated, “You're too soft.”

Sorey grinned and replied, “At least I have you around.”

The two of them exchanged smiles—Sorey's wide grin, Mikleo's subtle smirk—never once pulling apart their gazes… until they heard Zaveid clear his throat obnoxiously. Mikleo was the first to break away, and he scoffed lightly upon sighting Zaveid's wolfish, teasing grin. “Oh, lay off!” the younger regalia griped as he tried to push down the blush that crawled up the back of his neck, staining his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Lailah tittered behind her hand and chirped, “I suppose now is the perfect time to say congratulations to the both of you!”

Upon hearing her announcement, Zaveid slung an arm around Sorey's shoulders. The wolfish grin from before stretched across his lips even more widely. “A married man, eh?” Zaveid mused. “Soon you'll be tied down, and we can't go around town to have our fun any more.”

Mikleo rolled his eyes while Sorey merely laughed sheepishly, not bothering to deny Zaveid's suggestive claim. The god was sure that Mikleo knew he was wholly devoted to him, his one and only. Sorey couldn't see how the silvery blue haired beauty wouldn't have noticed.

“Nothing is going to change,” Edna remarked. “They're already disgustingly domestic.”

“It is strange though,” Rohan mentioned. “Usually, gods marry amongst themselves, or they seek company from the rivers and trees.” Rivers and trees don't know how to lie, after all, unlike humans, but Rohan left this matter unspoken. Mikleo was an honest boy—or as honest as he could be. Despite his cool façade that he had a tendency to wear around strangers, Mikleo wore his heart on his sleeve, and after knowing him for several centuries, Rohan could say that he trusted the Shepherd's guidepost as much as he would trust one of his own regalias.

“Sorey and Mikleo are already pretty strange themselves,” Edna commented with a shrug. She opened up her umbrella and twirled it in her hands. Pivoting on the heel of her boot, she added playfully in her usual deadpan, “That makes them perfect for each other, doesn't it?”

Rohan smiled and replied, “Well, regardless, I congratulate the two of you as well. We gods have been waiting centuries for this moment.”

That did nothing to ease Mikleo's embarrassment. If anything, the blessed regalia reddened even more—to the point where they were all surprised steam wasn't coming out of his ears. Sorey's soft laughter danced in the open air, and Mikleo could feel his heart dancing in his chest as well. Squeezing his lover's fingers ever so slightly, Mikleo pursed his lips together to hide the silly smile that prodded at his lips.

He never thought of ever getting married before. Probably never even had the chance before. Probably died too early. But Sorey gave him this chance, this second life to live, and Mikleo planned on savouring every second of it.

No more hesitations.

“I get to make the wedding speech, right?” Zaveid persisted. “I'm your best man, right, Sheps?”

Sorey didn't waste any time when he replied, “I was actually considering Dezel for the position. He's known the two of us longer—”

“Yeah, but I spend every day with you guys!” Zaveid argued with a slight whine. “Besides, do you think Dezel is precisely a man of many words?”

“You are better at talking nonsense,” Mikleo acquiesced.

“Exactly—hey!”

* * *

“I'm not sure what Sorey was thinking,” Mikleo rambled as he paced down the hall furiously, careful not to trip over the white silken robes that one of the goddesses of love, who doubled as a remarkable seamstress, had weaved especially for this occasion.

A shimmering open coat embroidered with ivory cranes and snowy white flower blossoms was draped over his shoulders. The sleeves stopped at his wrists to display the pure white sleeves of the wedding robe itself, and an ivory sash was wrapped tightly around his middle, making him seem even more fragile than he really was, which was hardly fragile at all. The attire itself had one too many layers though (an understatement, in Mikleo's honest opinion), and it weighed down his movements.

That was only one of his complaints.

(He hadn't worn traditional clothing in decades. Mikleo had almost forgotten how heavy they were.)

His other problem was on the other side of the looming doors.

“What was going through his head when he decided to invite the entirety of the Celestial Realm?” Mikleo inquired as he crossed his arms.

Lailah tutted and pulled him back in front of the heavy doors by the upper arm. She picked at his silvery blue tresses and carefully rearranged them back into place. Lailah gasped quietly when her fingertips accidentally brushed against the ornamental pin in his hair. The goddess in charge of his wardrobe had also insisted that Mikleo, albeit a bridegroom, wear the snowy flower speckled with soft blue gems. It complemented his colour palette, she had said.

“Sorey is a very open person,” Lailah reminded him in the patient voice of a doting mother staring upon him fondly. She smiled and added, “He wishes everyone to be welcomed at such a rare and momentous occasion.”

“Even Heldalf?” Mikleo grumbled.

“Even Heldalf,” Lailah replied.

Mikleo bristled slightly, but despite all his huffing and puffing of indignation, he was unable to protest. There would have probably have been worse implications had Sorey _not_ invited Heldalf. Although the rest of the Celestial Realm viewed the War God with caution (since he had not earned his title as the Lord of Calamity for nothing), excluding Heldalf from a gathering where essentially all gods were present would be a slight to his pride. If he then acted in vengeance, there was no way of knowing what he would do.

Sorey probably didn't think of such a political move though. The idea was entirely Rose's own, and the Goddess of Fortune merely “suggested” it to Sorey. Mikleo doubted that she didn't count on Sorey's kind, good-hearted nature to include and welcome everyone.

“We should invite everyone!” Rose had exclaimed.

“We?” Mikleo had repeated incredulously. He hadn't been aware that Rose somehow became their wedding planner.

“Everyone?” Sorey had echoed instead.

“ _Everyone_!” she had insisted.

Of course, that also meant that _everyone_ was here in the Emperor's Palace.

Lailah reached out, straightening his clothes that were slightly rumpled from all of his pacing, and mused aloud, “I never quite imagined this day five hundred years ago—when we first met, I mean.”

Mikleo returned her smile. “You said that things would be different because Sorey chose me to be his guidepost,” he recalled.

Lailah hummed in acknowledgement. “I believed that, as a guidepost, I could only embody his duty. You, on the other hand, were a future worth so much more to him than just his responsibilities as a Shepherd. I think I understand a little more now.”

Mikleo tilted his head curiously and asked, “What did you understand?”

Lailah giggled and said, “That, for Sorey, it was impossible to accept a future without you at his side.”

Mikleo flushed, and all protests died at the tip of his tongue when Zaveid swooped into the scene, for once properly dressed in a suit and tie, and offered his arm to Lailah. Behind him followed two children, Margaret and a village boy, who carried a basket of flower petals and a pillow with two matching rings respectively. Lailah politely accepted his arm and waved to Mikleo, whose stomach churned with trepidation as he realised that everything was starting. There was no more time left to think. Everything was starting.

This was really happening.

“We'll be going ahead, Mickey boy!” Zaveid stage whispered to him with a little wink.

Once Margaret and the ring bearer followed after the adult regalias, Mikleo gulped. He straightened his back and, as if preparing for an egregious battle, marched forward. Once he was out in the open, however, the feeling of vulnerability seeped into him as he felt all eyes focus on him, but still he held his chin up and fixed his gaze on the path in front of him.

There were approving gazes admiring him, his appearance or his status as a blessed regalia. There were contemptuous gazes looking down upon him. After all, he was naught but a regalia—though blessed he may be—and a former human, yet here he was, about to stand at the side of one of the most powerful gods in the entire Celestial Realm.

He found that he no longer cared about that. What was between Sorey and him was strictly between the two of them; it was no one else's business.

He could feel the heavy stare of the Emperor of the Heavens on his back as he watched from his balcony above the gathering below him. They called him Maotelus, chief of all gods, who oversaw all of the Celestial Realm. If they were approved by Maotelus, then Mikleo didn't have to worry about the opinions of the other gods who were just as powerless as he was in front of their leader.

Heldalf, who was seated towards the back (even though his seat was reserved closer to the front out of Sorey's respect for his rival) with Symonne, stared at him blankly. Mikleo would be lying if he said that it didn't unnerve him the slightest bit.

As he progressed, however, he met the proud, triumphant stare of Gramps and found himself smiling just a little. His eyes wandered, and he found Natalie smiling fondly at him. Then Mikleo realised belatedly that she could have had this with Mason—if only someone, anyone, could have saved him from his demise. At least Mason, or his soul, seemed to be living peacefully now. On the other hand, Shiron and Ed were grinning at him from their seats, and Mikleo fought off the heat warming his cheeks when he realised that his friends were right all along. Sorey did have a crush on him back then—for all of those centuries.

Sorey was right in front of him, dressed neatly in a newly tailored and fitted version of his ceremonial cloak, and once Mikleo conquered the last of the distance, Sorey was right by his side. Lailah and Zaveid had already arrived long before he did, and the children had already settled down in the front seats, watching the procession with interest. Sorey reached for his hand, and their fingers laced together out of habit. Despite himself, Mikleo smiled at the contact.

Rose beamed at the two of them, and Dezel stood behind her just to make sure that she wouldn't do anything foolish. After fighting off a goddess of marriage and a god of fidelity, she had rightfully earned her position as an officiant. Clearing her throat, she address everyone present in the ballroom, but Mikleo couldn't hear her. All he could hear was Sorey's voice whispering in his ear, “Thank you, Mikleo.”

“Idiot,” Mikleo whispered back as the smile lingered on his lips.

 _Thank you, Sorey_.

They hardly listened as Rose cracked her jokes in front of an amiable audience. When prompted, they recited their vows and swore their love and their lives to one another. It was a formality, and by now, they were only anticipating what would come after.

“You may now kiss the bridegroom,” Rose finally declared. There was mirth in her eyes as she watched Sorey rub circles on the back of Mikleo's hand.

It was a simple kiss, soft and chaste, yet Mikleo could feel Sorey's warm touch lingering on his lips. His smile only widened ever so slightly, and Sorey could only press a kiss against his forehead at the sight. It was a promise of more—later, after everyone's gone, when it was just the two of them.

Of course, they hadn't expected Zaveid's speech at the dinner reception to begin with, “I met the Shepherd when he was just a lad starting his journey around the world!” He continued with embellishing their adventures and proceeded to embarrass Sorey by recounting how the “poor fellow” pined after his “beautiful regalia.” Mikleo wondered if this was the reason why Zaveid so desperately wanted to be the best man.

Naturally, the older regalia had enough tact to omit how he had blighted his lord the first night of their contract, but he only covered his own hide as far as anyone else was concerned. Even Edna was scowling when he mentioned how concerned she had become in their lord's love affair (because that would have meant she had a soft spot in her heart for Mikleo as well). Lailah was the only one in their party giggling with delight and amusement.

“And as we all know,” Zaveid concluded, “The Shepherd and His Guidepost became the Celestial Realm's most frustrating but entertaining soap opera. This is not the end, however, my friends! A new story—the Celestial Realm's newest, sappiest romance comedy—begins here as we toast to their union! Cheers!”

Everyone, content with the supply of liquor available to them and the various delicacies present at the buffet table, raised their champagne glasses and echoed merrily, “Cheers!”

Meanwhile, Sorey and Mikleo slunk in their seats.

“You should have stuck with Dezel,” Mikleo mumbled under his breath.

“I really should have stuck with Dezel,” Sorey agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding Lunarre, most of the time he's referred to as a "stray" because Sorey can't give him one single name when he has so many. Sorey, being kind-hearted, doesn't discriminate when it comes to strays like other gods, who view them almost with fear. Strays serve numerous gods, which means their loyalty lies with no one master. This also means they can't be bound under a spell very easily; Mikleo only manages to do it because he's a blessed regalia who knew at least one of Lunarre's many names. (You can see an example of this in _Noragami_ chapter 39.)
> 
> As for Mikleo's wardrobe, in the beginning, I based his modern!winter clothes off his alternate costume in-game. For his wedding robes, I had in mind a Chinese hanfu, a Japanese kimono, and a Korean hanbok. I just thought the silk layers would look absolutely lovely on him. It probably doesn't help that I had Eastern mythology in mind when I was writing this as well, namely the story behind Tanabata (Orihime and Hikoboshi), a byproduct of the actual _Noragami_ universe.
> 
> So all that's left now is the epilogue!


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a story of the past.

“It's a small village,” Sorey commented as he and his travelling companion sauntered down the paved pathways, inadvertently drawing attention to themselves. “It doesn't look like they have visitors often.”

Strange, he thought to himself, considering that they were located in the mountain valleys between the Kingdom of Hyland and the Imperial Empire of Rolance. The village was situated near a crossroad, so there should have been travellers coming and going. After giving more thought, however, Sorey realised that, due to the era, it was probably no wonder why they didn't have many visitors. An imminent threat of war brewed among the humans, so travel between the two nations would be difficult and tedious. There were probably more checkpoints lining the border than Sorey could possibly count.

Perhaps it was because of the building animosity that left this remote village isolated from the worries of the industrial cities. All of the villagers he had seen so far were more than happy to go about their daily routines without a thought of wars and battles and political hostility on their minds. It was peaceful here, something that Sorey discovered to be difficult to encounter in this era.

The young god stumbled over an overgrown tree root, yelping like a kicked puppy caught off-guard by an unprecedented assault, and only a few moments after he realised that he wasn't upright, Sorey tried to regain his balance. Unfortunately, his reflexes were a little too slow, and the brunet crashed directly into a smaller boy with fair, translucent skin and intelligent violet eyes. Wisps of soft honey brown hair brushed lightly against his brow, framing his delicate visage and hiding the azure gem embedded within the golden circlet. Immediately, Sorey grasped his shoulders, preventing the slight boy from hitting the door frame behind him.

“I'm so sorry!” Sorey blurted out, but he didn't immediately pull away.

Instead, he watched, astounded, as the loveliest red flushed his cheeks.

“It's—it's fine,” stammered the boy before he politely stepped away from Sorey. Averting his eyes, he added, “Thanks for… saving me.” His voice was quiet and uncertain, and he spoke reluctantly. After all, Sorey wouldn't have needed to help him if the traveller had simply watched where he was going.

“I-I… I,” Sorey swallowed the lump in his throat and finished lamely, “I'm glad you're okay.”

“Yeah,” replied the fair haired boy. “Uh, watch your step. I-I mean,” he paused, searching for the right words, before saying, “that tree is old and overgrown.” His words were uttered almost lamely, and his shoulders slumped slightly as he gave up on trying to express his thoughts in favour of wearing politeness and courtesy.

Sorey smiled, trying to ease the building tension, and found himself blurting out, “Yeah, but it's a great tree.” Hopefully, that didn't sound as weird as he thought it did.

The boy laughed, amethyst eyes sparkling with amusement at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, and Sorey could feel his heart racing in his throat. It was a lovely laugh. He had lovely eyes. “That it is,” the boy replied amicably. He relaxed some, smiling at Sorey, and—oh dear gods—Sorey wished he would keep smiling forever. “You're visiting, right? If you ever need anything, my family owns the bakery down the street.”

Sorey grinned. “I'll keep that in mind!”

* * *

“Something smells absolutely delightful, Lord Sorey!” chirped his regalia. The young woman tucked a stray strand of silvery green hair, tinged with fiery red at the ends, behind her ear while she glanced about the area, trying to pinpoint the source of the aroma.

“Bread,” Sorey murmured as he sniffed the air.

Leila nodded her head before clapping her hands together and exclaiming, “Oh! Over there, Lord Sorey!” She beamed in delightful, prancing towards the quaint little bakery. At the same time, a young man around his eighteenth year stepped outside the bakery with a white apron covering his front and a puffy cap covering his honey brown hair that framed his delicate visage. He worked effortlessly to set up a folding sign outside their door, announcing today's specials and deals, before dusting his hands free of the flour and chalk.

The boy from yesterday, Sorey realised. What he didn't realise was how his gaze lingered longer than was necessary, following the boy's every movement. As lovely as ever, thought the young god.

The baker raised his head, and automatically, verdant jade eyes locked onto iridescent amethyst jewels. A second later, Sorey blinked and averted his gaze, a heated flush burning his cheeks. The human boy bowed his head slightly in an uncertain greeting before he retreated back into his shop, steps both uneven and uneasy. Unwittingly, the young god's gaze followed after him once more, peering beyond the glass door, until the baker disappeared into the kitchen.

“Lord Sorey?” Leila inquired, smiling at him, and for the first time in all of his life, Sorey couldn't make out the expression she wore. There was a bit of mirth sparkling in her eyes, filled to the brim with fondness and a maternal love he'd only ever seen among the humans. As always, when she spoke, her voice was soothing with warmth and tenderness, “Would you like to buy some bread?”

Dumbly, he nodded, but he couldn't seem to move his legs. It only took a simple nudge from Leila to make him stumble forward, and soon he tripped on the front step of the bakery and past the threshold. A soft giggle broke him out of his daze. Following the source of the sound, he found himself staring into the soft violet eyes of an older woman. She tucked a few strands of brown hair behind her ear and greeted him with a warm smile, “Good morning, young man.”

“Good morning,” he replied. “Uh, lovely place you have here.”

Her eyes crinkled slightly, beaming with delightful from his little compliment, and she laughed quietly. “Thank you, kind sir. How may I help you this fine morning?” she inquired.

“Err, well,” Sorey fumbled about his person, reaching for his purse of money, as he asked her, “what's the most popular item here? I'm afraid I'm not really sure.”

“Well, you're a new face in town,” the woman reminded. “Most people already know what they want when they walk through that door.” She leaned against the counter and introduced herself, “My name is Muse. You?”

“Sorey,” he answered.

“So, Sorey,” she chirped, “what brings you to this tiny little village?”

“Oh, I'm just passing through, I guess,” Sorey replied. “I really like it here though.”

“Ah,” Muse hummed. “You're a traveller then?” Her eyes turned somewhat mischievous as she pressed further, “An adventurer? Explorer?”

“All of the above?” Sorey answered uncertainly.

The kitchen door was pushed open, and the same boy from earlier froze in his steps upon sighting Sorey, his hands clutching tightly onto the tray of croissants. Sorey felt his heart stop, his breath hitching in his throat, as he forgot how to breathe. Muse, on the other hand, was absolutely beaming with delight as she gestured for the boy to come closer. “Sorey, this is my son, Cleo! Cleo, this is Sorey! He's an _adventurer_!” she exclaimed.

The young man blushed at his mother's enthusiasm, and Sorey couldn't help but recall how he had worn the same expression yesterday. Rosy cheeks was a good look on him. Despite his higher station, Sorey still flushed from the attention focused upon him by the two humans and stammered a breathless, “H-Hi...”

“Hi,” Cleo returned shortly, reddening his cheeks even more. “Would you… would you like a croissant?”

“Uh, yeah—I mean, yes! Yes, please,” Sorey spluttered, snapping out of his daze.

Grinning behind her hand, Muse backed into the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone.

“I, uhm,” Cleo mumbled, ducking his head almost shyly. “I have to stock these in the display glass, but you're welcome to grab one. I'll help you at the counter in a bit. It'll be 115 gald for a croissant. Would you like something else?”

Sorey's eyes darted around the bakery, looking for something to buy for Leila as well, and pointed awkwardly towards the nearest display glass. “I'll take one of those,” he replied, following after Cleo like a lost little pup. Cleo glanced over to where he pointed and nodded before he placed the tray on one of the shelves in their display glass. He grabbed a fresh tray from a stack near the front door along with a pair of small tongs, plucking a croissant and a scone from the shelf.

“Together, that'll be 235 gald,” he informed quietly as he packaged Sorey's pastries into a paper bag. The two of them made a silent exchange, coin for pastries, before stilling ever so slightly when their fingertips brushed against one another. “You're… an adventurer?”

Sorey nodded. “I've always been on the road,” he explained. “I come from a small village, too, but from the very first day I opened my eyes, I just kind of knew that I couldn't stay there for long. I've been travelling for a while now, but it's the first time I've been to a village like this. It reminds me of my home-town.” Sorey smiled, and he could feel his heart fluttering in his chest when Cleo returned it.

“I've always been here,” Cleo replied. “I don't know much beyond this village. I've always wanted to explore, but right now, with the war between Hyland and Rolance, it's difficult.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his aprons and mused aloud, “Well, it's not a bad place to be.”

Without thinking and without hesitating the slightest, Sorey suggested, “I'll come and visit you, and I'll tell you stories from around the world.” Upon hearing his own outburst, the young god flushed in embarrassment while he rubbed the back of his neck. He risked a little peek at Cleo's visage and brightened once he noticed how the young man was positively glowing.

“You mean it?” Cleo questioned almost sceptically, rather hopefully.

Sorey nodded eagerly and swore on the stars. Before he could leave and back out the door, Cleo called out to him, “Wait!” Sorey froze on the spot and turned back to face the baker with widened eyes. A shy smile tugged at the curves of Cleo's lips as he said, “I take my lunch break at noon.”

Sorey grinned and replied, “I'll be here.” It wasn't like he was in a rush any time soon. This village was so peaceful that he hadn't even spotted a phantom once during his stay. He still had time before he had to cross into Rolance, and even then, Sorey was sure he would come back to visit.

Cleo's smile was addicting.

* * *

“Here are some mabo curry buns,” Cleo said as he handed Sorey the brown paper bag that still exuded warmth. He sat down next to Sorey below the large, overgrown tree at the heart of the village, relaxing underneath the shade, as he peered up towards the vast, blue sky and reclined against its sturdy trunk. “You said that your friend—Rose, I think—liked them, right? There's enough for the two of you… I hope.” He huffed indignantly and remarked, “Really, your appetite is astounding.” He couldn't help but think of how Sorey would always very nearly buy out the entire bakery one day and then return the next with even more business.

Sorey claimed that it was for his family, but Cleo had seen how quickly he had wolfed down his uncle's famous mabo curry buns the other day.

Sorey gratefully accepted the bag and burst with excitement. “Thanks, Cleo!” he chirped with a huge grin that stretched his lips from ear to ear. “You're the best!”

Even after nearly six months of hearing the same line over and over again, Cleo's cheeks flushed with colour, and Sorey's grin nearly split his face into halves as he overdosed on euphoria and ecstasy. Even though he knew that the baker's apprentice didn't do well with compliments, Sorey couldn't help but praise him time and time again. It was almost teasing, really, but he couldn't get enough of Cleo's adorable rosy cheeks.

Sorey pulled apart the top of bag, inhaling the steam that floated from within, and sighed happily. There were half a dozen buns this time around, and Sorey assumed that three were for him while the other three were for Rose. Cleo probably judged that Rose shared the same appetite as Sorey, which wasn't true in the slightest. (Rose had a bigger appetite, in Sorey's most professional, unbiased opinion, but he wasn't going to tell Cleo. If Cleo knew, then Rose would probably get more buns than Sorey did.)

Taking one out of the six buns, Sorey carefully split it into two halves down the middle and handed one to Cleo, who stared at it sceptically and almost incredulously. “You do know that I have at least three dozen of those buns back at the bakery, right?” Cleo mused with a playful half-smile. It was more of a smirk, really, but Sorey would take what he could get. He liked it when Cleo was in a good mood anyway.

“You haven't eaten lunch yet,” Sorey insisted, stretching his hand ever closer to Cleo.

Rolling his eyes, Cleo accepted the offered half and bit into the bun while Sorey scarfed his down ravenously. Once upon a time, Cleo would make a snide remark about Sorey's appalling manners—or lack thereof—but now he only watched for a few moments with an amused smile lingering on his lips. He never admitted aloud how, truthfully, endearing it was. Sorey enjoyed his food, and Cleo was actually quite pleased and touched about all of it.

Cleo never once brought goods his uncle baked for Sorey to try. His uncle baked for business. Cleo baked for his friends and family. Eventually, he'd have to take over the shop, but that was another time. For now, he was content with how Sorey seemed to enjoy every little thing he brought to him.

“I wonder if this is going to last,” Cleo mused aloud.

Sorey, after swallowing the last bit of his half of his bun, blinked and replied, “What do you mean?”

Cleo slumped and sighed. “My uncle says that the Imperial Army of Rolance will soon be upon us,” Cleo answered. “They're trying to cross into Hyland. I can't say if Hyland is trying to do that same thing since, geographically, we're a part of the Rolance Empire.”

Cleo turned his head and smiled at Sorey, and the young god felt his heart breaking. It was so _sad_ , and Sorey didn't know how else to describe it. The smile clawed at his chest, pulled at his heartstrings, and tore him apart. “You should get away from here—go far away—to some place safe for the time being,” Cleo said. “I don't know when Rolance will march, but I don't they'll come knocking politely on our doorstep. They could accuse you of being a spy or—I don't know—something crazy.”

Sorey reached for Cleo, holding onto his hand as to never let go, and asked, “What about you?”

“What about me?” Cleo returned with a wry twist of his lips. Sorey wanted to kiss it away. “I was born here, raised here, and if worse comes to worst, I'll die here.”

Sorey could feel his heart drop to his stomach at the thought of Cleo going somewhere far, far away, somewhere even he as a god could not reach, could never reach, so long as there was someone out there who believed in him. He shook his head in protest, but Sorey didn't even know what he was trying to argue. “I'm not going to leave,” he wanted to say, “and you're not going to die.” However, the words died on his tongue, and he found himself in Cleo's embrace, burying his face into Cleo's neck, letting his tears dampen the fabric of Cleo's white uniform.

He was a god, but why couldn't he do anything for this lovely soul?

* * *

“Cleo! Cleo! Where are you? _Cleo_!” Sorey screeched as he stormed through the burning village. Burnt homes, burning homes, burnt bodies, burning bodies, a putrid stench that reeked, the cries that only grew louder and louder, overwhelming his own voice, polluted the once peaceful village. He danced past soldiers in combat, avoiding the pike of a spear and the point of a sword, scorning them and their greed, before his eyes fell upon a familiar building.

“No, no, no, no, _no_!” Sorey cried before he sprinted towards the bakery. The foundations were falling apart, the pillars collapsing, the walls caving in, the roof crashing down. He skidded to a stop in front of the entrance, his eyes widening upon spotting a familiar face beneath the rubble.

He picked at the debris, trying to pull her out of the mess, but Muse was only coughing, too weak to move away from harm's way. Instead, she clutched at the fabric of his cloak and pleaded him with her last breath, “Please… please save my son. Oh, gods, please, I beg you… save my son.”

Tears burned his eyes as he replied between broken sobs, “I hear your prayer, Muse.”

She smiled, and her hand fell from his cloak while her eyes fluttered shut.

“Lord Sorey,” Leila whispered softly, calmly, in an attempt to coax him into a more rational state, a less hazardous mentality. Her voice echoed within his mind, ringing her metal blade with gentle vibrations, as she insisted, “We must keep moving. The phantoms are multiplying at an incredible rate.” What he planned to do in this pandemonium was left entirely to him, whether he wanted to purify this village or abandon it to the war god’s whim, but she was adamant on keeping him alive.

Of course, she already knew what he had decided.

Sorey nodded and left behind the bakery, shouting Cleo's name until he lost his voice. His steps slowed as he neared the village shrine and made out two figures in the burning chaos. The taller man laid his apprentice, so young and so helpless, against the wooden planks with a tenderness that was scarce found in the chaos. Sorey's jade green eyes fell upon honey brown hair, and his heart raced. _Cleo_.

 _Cleo, Cleo, Cleo, Cleo_!

His heart stopped.

Michael, Cleo's own uncle, related by flesh and blood, raised a short sword over his head.

“Stop!” Sorey shrieked. “Don't do it!”

Michael didn't hear him. He was blind and deaf to the world around him, overwhelmed by the terrible malice polluting the air, poisoned by the miasma contaminating his blood, consumed by the hate surging through his veins and wrecking his very much human body onto which the phantoms latched like vicious parasites.

“ _Cleo_!” Sorey cried instead, hoping to reach his beloved. Not wasting a second, he raced towards the helpless apprentice, who remained unconscious and practically lifeless in the centre of the shrine. “Cleo, wake up! Wake up! Please just _wake up_!”

“Oh, ye gods who heed my request,” Michael snarled venomously, and for a second Sorey saw a demon in his eyes as he incited, “curse the entity who brought foul malevolence into this peaceful village and wrought its destruction with a vengeance tenfold! Curse him and his name and all he stands for! All that he lives for! Let him stand at the precipice of his folly with a sword always at his back! May he never step forward or turn around! May he never find peace!”

The short sword plunged through Cleo's chest, and the bloody petals of rose bloomed against the white fabric of Cleo's uniform.

In the distance, Sorey could hear a dragon's roar echoing in the skies like the thunderous drum of a raging tempest. Without a moment's thought, Sorey plunged his blade through the phantom in front of him, and in the next second, Michael fell to his knees and collapsed next to his nephew, drowning in a growing pool of crimson.

Sorey dropped to his knees, and Leila fell from his hands with a clatter. Trembling, he cradled Cleo like a fragile newborn, holding him to his chest and listening for the heartbeat that he could no longer hear. A choked sob burst from his lips, and everything began to hurt all at once. His throat was sore, his eyes were stinging, and his chest was aching with a pain and misery he had never felt before now.

* * *

“You said that your friend was turned into a dragon at the village within the valley?” Sorey asked quietly as he fiddled with the feathers around his wrist. Cleo had made it for him, claiming that he was a protection amulet, that it would—to an extent, the baker had insisted with a shy smile—keep him safe. He wished he had something to give to Cleo in return even if the young man kept protesting, insisting that Sorey didn't need to do so.

Oh, how he was wrong.

Sorey clenched his fist to keep himself restrained. Ignoring Leila's worried gaze, he lifted his head and stared at the man in front of him—one of Heldalf's former regalia. The spirit was exiled now and without a name. Sorey and Leila had found him in the charred remains of the once peaceful village, searching for the body of a friend who no longer existed, and in a way, Sorey could understand him and his desperation.

“Eizen was beginning to crack—literally,” replied the white haired man. “He was Heldalf's shield, but he thought that what we were doing was wrong. He faltered, and, well, Heldalf threw him away. With that much negativity in the air, there was no way he wouldn't be tainted, but I had to do something before it was too late.” He gulped and forced a smile onto his lips. It was cracked and strained and bitter. The wound was still too fresh, still hadn't healed, and it hurt. Sorey knew and understood. “I was too late.”

Sorey took the news quietly, but not calmly. His mind was a mess, filled with thoughts of Cleo—Cleo's violet eyes, Cleo's rosy cheeks, Cleo's quiet giggles, Cleo's uncontrollable laughter, Cleo's shy smiles, Cleo's playful smirks, Cleo's blood—so red and so warm—that he forcibly trained his attention to what was at hand. Swallowing whatever fears he had left, he grinned wryly at the exiled spirit and said, “What do you think about saving your friend?”

The spirit considered it and said, “The only way to save a dragon is to end its life.”

“There's no way to reverse the process,” Sorey confirmed.

The spirit faltered before he nodded. “Eizen wouldn't want to harm innocent humans. He was too kind for his own good,” the spirit said. “It makes you wonder how he ended up in the hands of a war god.”

Sorey didn't reply. Instead, he addressed Leila, who stood off to the side behind him, and asked, “Did you see where the dragon headed?”

“Towards Rayfalke Spiritcrest,” Leila answered diligently. “He probably took to the summit.”

The male spirit nodded in confirmation. “Eizen has— _had_ —lingering attachments to Spiritcrest. He says— _said_ —that's where his sister is. She's protected at a shrine there; he tried keeping her safe from the influence of phantoms and gods.”

“Then that's where we're going,” Sorey declared. “Come on. Let's get moving.” He heard Leila follow after him, her steps demure and obedient, diligent even in a moment of hesitation, so he halted his march and angled his head slightly to stare at his newest companion. “Aren't you coming, Zavida?”

* * *

Cerulean eyes watered over with a grief and despair that Sorey knew, understood, and recognised all too well. “You're telling me,” the little girl—except she wasn't a little girl, not really, Sorey reminded himself—stammered in a voice filled with incredulity and disbelief and fear, “that my brother is that dragon?”

She sounded miserable.

“That dragon was your brother,” Sorey corrected weakly.

She whimpered, and Sorey winced.

Exhaling shakily, Sorey approached her once again, this time treading more carefully, speaking in a gentle voice he didn't know if he was still capable of using. “I know what it's like to lose someone important,” Sorey told her. “It's like your whole world is falling apart, and you don't know how to keep yourself together.”

“Does it get better?” she asked him.

Sorey smiled—just as bitter and acerbic as it was two weeks ago—and told her, “I don't know. I'm still working on it.”

It's been business the past two weeks. The Celestial Realm was in as big of a mess as the mortal realm. Heldalf was on trial, has been on trial, and the other gods have been divided on where they stand. There were gods who believed Heldalf committed no crime. He was answering the prayers of a human, after all. These were, thus, consequences of humans and not the war god himself.

However, there were other gods who insisted that the dragon—a forsaken _dragon—_ was a result of Heldalf's negligence. They said that it could have been prevented. They said that there was no way to handle a dragon. Not even an army of war gods could stop a dragon's rampage, but that was because of the war gods' own pride and arrogance. They stood divided in matters and argued constantly on tactics and strategies. It was their own downfall.

All Sorey had said was to leave the dragon to him. He would take care of it. He was, after all, the Shepherd. It was his duty to purify phantoms, no matter how grand they are.

This was what Cleo's sacrifice brought, so Sorey would end it for Cleo's sake.

“If you're ever lonely,” Sorey told the girl, “I'll come back for you. I'll adopt you into my family. Leila will be around. We'll take care of you.”

“Don't forget me!” protested his newest regalia.

Sorey chuckled albeit humourlessly. “Yes, we can't forget you, Zavida.”

The girl nodded quietly, still reeling from the news of her brother's demise. “I understand,” she replied, and Sorey, for once, didn't know what she meant. She could have understood his offer, or she could have understood that he needed to save her brother… and there was only one way to do that.

“I'll be around,” Sorey said. “If you need anything, go to Elysia.”

“Elysia?” Leila echoed, bewildered. “Lord Sorey, we haven't been to Elysia—”

“In a while, I know,” Sorey finished for her, “but after all of this mess, I'll be in Elysia with Gramps. He'll probably want to have a long, long chat about this.” But that's going to have to wait, Sorey thought to himself. No war god could handle a dragon alone, and even with his own powers of purification, Sorey didn't know what could happen to him, what _would_ happen to him.

* * *

“I…” a sharp inhale, a following wince “I don't plan on having you guys break on me.”

“Lord Sorey, please don't do this!”

“Sheps, don't you dare!”

“You two are…” a stifled grunt, a raspy breath “you two are good regalia. You'll… you'll find a better master to serve. I… In this state, I don't deserve the title of Shepherd.”

_Too consumed by Cleo. Too consumed by vengeance. Too consumed by passion he couldn't quell._

“No such thing, Lord Sorey! Let us retreat!”

“No. I need to finish this.” A laugh—nostalgic and bitter-sweet, almost happy and content—danced in the air. “Tell Gramps and Rose that I'm sorry. Tell… tell that little girl to wait for me. I'll come back for her in my next life.”

“Lord Sorey! You can tell them whatever you want by yourself!”

“Come on, Sheps! There's definitely another way! We don't have to do this today! We retreat now, gather our strength, and come back full force! We can get him next time!”

“You know, I never did tell him that I love him.” That I'm still in love with him. “I hereby release you from our contract, Fethmus Muema, Filk Zadeya.”

* * *

He kept running and running and running even when his feet ached, even when he stumbled over a tree root or a loose stone, even when he tumbled on the ground. He kept running and running and running without looking back.

“ _He smells so good! So good! So good!_ ”

“ _Oh, how delicious! How scrumptious! How delightful!_ ”

“ _Keep running little spirit! We'll come and get you eventually!_ ”

He kept running and never looked back once. A yelp broke past his pink lips, startled and frantic, as he tripped and crashed through slender tree branches. He braced himself, crossing his arms in front of his face, as he was thrust forward, losing his footing and rolling down the side of a cliff.

He kept rolling from the momentum and only ceased whenever he felt himself drop off another surface. Water seeped through his white robes, dampening the dirtied and muddied fabric, before drenching his skin and his hair, washing away every bit of pain and hurt he felt.

“ _Curses! Where did he go?_ ”

“ _Little snow fairy, come out, come out, wherever you are!_ ”

“ _Come! I can't smell him any more! It reeks of holy water here!_ ”

Standing upright in the crystal clear water, he cupped his hands underneath the surface and lifted it to his face, staring at the reflection he found there. Violet eyes, silvery blue hair, pale skin. This was him. Who was he? He didn't know.

Pearl drops trickled from his amethyst eyes.

He was scared.

This was scary.

Where was here? Where was he? Who was he? What was he doing here?

Pearl drops rolled down porcelain cheeks and fell into the crystal waters that seeped through slender fingers.

He didn't know how long he cried for and how long he stayed there, but he didn't want to leave—not at the risk of those _things_ chasing after him once again. He seemed to have lost them here, wherever here was, and this pond—this sacred water—seemed to deter them for the most part.

 _Soon, soon he will come for you_.

But who is he? The silvery blue haired spirit wanted to ask. Who is coming? Why is he coming for me? And again, those questions repeated themselves in his head. Who am I? Who are you? Where is this place?

There were too many questions, and they made his head hurt. All over again, he cried anew.

_Someone come save me! Please, come save me!_

“Hey, why are you crying? Are you lost?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leila is a name naming "night" in the Iranian, Hebrew, and Arabic languages. It can be pronounced "lee-lah," "lay-lah," or even "lie-lah." Variants of the name include Laela(h), Layla(h), Leyla(h), and, of course, Laila(h).
> 
> Zavida is, more or less, the Katakana reading of ザビーダ into the Roman alphabet. (A more accurate reading would be Zabiida, I suppose, if we're sticking to Japanese phonetics.) This was mostly so that I had an excuse to use both of Zaveid's speculated "true names," although I'm starting to think Filk Zadeya might actually be the genuine localised one.
> 
> Cleo is a Greek name short for Cleopatra/Cleophus that could mean "pride," "fame," or "glory." An alternate spelling would be Kleo. I took to interpreting, for this story, Mikleo as "My Cleo," similar to "mi amor" (Spanish) or "amore mio" (Italian). (Haha, please excuse my Spanish/Italian. Only my French is barely passable.) I'm also assuming that human!Mikleo would have brown hair like his mother and uncle.
> 
> On another note, I'm surprised this story got as much attention as it did! I'm very honoured to those of you who've read from beginning to end. I wasn't expecting over 4k views, to be honest. Thank you so much for all of your support, especially to those who have left kudos and comments over time. I'm always really touched when I see familiar usernames from chapter to chapter.
> 
> Anyway, this is the end. I really did like writing this AU. I've always had an interest in mythology and folklore, so it was a lot of fun. Also, if you have any questions, feel free to hit me up on [Tumblr](http://mstowa.tumblr.com).


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